The Marriage Takeover. Lee Wilkinson

not sure what the time is,’ she prevaricated. ‘I forgot to alter my watch.’

      Glancing at the slim, waterproof Rolex he wore on his left wrist, Lang told her, ‘It’s just after six.’ Then, with a glint, he said, ‘And I can recommend that swim.’

      Making a big deal of adjusting her watch, she half shook her head. ‘I’m really thirsty. I think I’d rather have a drink.’

      ‘Why not have both? There’s some freshly squeezed juice waiting.’ He indicated a table by the pool-side that had been set with a selection of fruit and cereals, a jug of orange juice and two tall glasses.

      As she hesitated, his sardonic smile making it clear that he had recognized the reason for her reluctance, he added, ‘I’m going in now to shower and dress. Afterwards I’ve got a couple of things to take care of, so you’ve a good half-hour before I join you for breakfast.’

      ‘Thank you; in that case I think I will.’ She was pleased that her voice was steady.

      Watching him walk away, his carriage easy, athletic, she gritted her teeth. He was the most complex, demoralizing, disturbing man she’d ever met.

      Going back into her room, the first thing she noticed was the overnight bag that now wouldn’t be needed.

      Oh, if only she’d wakened sooner! Agitated and jumpy, nervous as a cat shut in the wrong house, she sighed. But it was too late. There was nothing she could do but make the best of things.

      Stripping off her clothes, she pulled on her black swimsuit and looked in the cheval-glass. It fitted her slender, long-legged figure to perfection, and by modern standards was quite modest, but her heightened sensibilities made her feel half naked.

      A cautious peep showed the patio was deserted, and, with a rueful grimace at the stupidity of her own behaviour, she ventured out.

      She helped herself to a glass of the delicious, sweet-tart juice, and drank it thirstily before slipping into the pool.

      The water was blissfully cool and refreshing, and she swam several leisurely lengths while the tension slowly drained out of her.

      Turning on her back, she floated motionless, her hair fanning out around her, her eyes closed, the Californian sun warm on her face.

      ‘About ready?’

      Lang’s voice startled her, and her head went under. She gulped in water, and for a second or two thrashed about wildly.

      A strong hand caught one of her wrists and drew her to the side. Then, crouching, he took her under her arms and hauled her out with what seemed to be effortless ease.

      While she coughed and spluttered, he set her on her feet and steadied her until she’d blinked the water from her eyes and got her breath back. Then, picking up a short white towelling robe he’d tossed over a chair, he held it for her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said huskily. Pulling the robe around her, she knotted the belt and used the cowl collar to wipe her face and dry the dripping ends of her hair.

      A hint of amusement in his voice, Lang suggested, ‘Perhaps in future you should avoid the deep end, rather than risk drowning.’

      ‘I can swim perfectly well,’ she informed him indignantly. ‘I would have been in no danger of drowning if you hadn’t startled me.’

      She hadn’t meant to sound quite so accusing, she thought belatedly, but the shock had momentarily put out of her head the need to tread warily.

      ‘I’m sorry. Trying to drown you wasn’t my intention. Believe me, I much prefer you alive.’ Then he said softly, ‘You see, I have plans for you, Cassandra.’

      ‘Plans?’ A little chill of alarm ran down her spine. ‘What kind of plans?’

      ‘You’ll have to wait and see. I’ve always believed that anticipation hones the…’ There was a brief pause before he added, ‘Pleasure. Now, are you ready for some breakfast?’

      He had changed into lightweight trousers and a blue open-necked sports shirt. Conscious that he was studying the slim length of her bare legs, and feeling very much at a disadvantage, she stammered, ‘I—I was hoping to get dressed first.’

      A hand beneath her elbow, he urged her towards the table and the appetizing smell of coffee. ‘This is California. Even up here, where the air’s cooler, you’re already wearing more than you need.’

      Seeing nothing else for it, she sat down, hiding her legs under the table.

      Smiling a little, he took his own seat and poured coffee for them both, before asking, ‘Would you like to start with some cereal?’ When she shook her head, he helped her to scrambled eggs and thin slices of crispy bacon.

      Sitting in the sun, a balmy breeze rustling the palm fronds and wafting the scent of frangipani, the mountains making a majestic backdrop, they ate in silence, Lang looking relaxed and easy, Cassandra anything but.

      What had he meant by plans? she wondered uneasily. It had sounded almost like a veiled threat…

      Oh, don’t be a fool! she scolded herself crossly. What possible reason could a man in his position have for threatening her? Until the previous day she’d never even met him, let alone given him any cause to want to harm her.

      Lang Dalton was her boss, nothing more or less. A wealthy, influential, highly respected entrepreneur, not some kind of bogeyman.

      Probably plans had been a reference to some quite innocuous outing. He’d told Alan that he would show her ‘something of the area’.

      When, eating abstractedly, she’d done justice to the meal, Lang refilled her cup and, his voice casual, said, ‘Oh, by the way, your fiancé wrote you a note while he was snatching a quick coffee.’

      Why hadn’t he mentioned it before? she wondered vexedly.

      As though in answer to that thought, he added with an ironic smile, ‘In the general excitement, I’m afraid it almost slipped my mind.’

      Feeling in the pocket of his shirt, he produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to her.

      Confirming Alan’s haste, his almost painfully neat writing had degenerated into a scrawl.

      Cass, darling, sorry to leave without seeing you, but in the circumstances it seemed a shame to disturb you. While we were talking last night, Mr Dalton told me where he planned to take you, so enjoy your weekend, and I’ll catch up with you in Las Vegas Sunday evening.

      Love, A.

      Looking up, Cassandra asked blankly, ‘Las Vegas?’

      ‘I thought you might like to see the place,’ Lang said easily. ‘We can drive over to Nevada—you’ll find the journey itself is a pleasure—and stay a couple of nights at the Golden Phoenix… I’ve arranged for your fiancé to be flown straight there from LA…

      ‘Apart from the fact that Vegas is well worth seeing for its own sake—it was a frontier outpost and railway town before becoming a gambling mecca—it’s surrounded by some magnificent desert scenery.

      ‘Death Valley lies to the west, and from nearby McCarran International Airport there are flights that offer a bird’s-eye view of the Grand Canyon.’

      ‘That sounds wonderful,’ she admitted, feeling both excited and relieved. A trip to Las Vegas in a chauffeur-driven car, and staying at a hotel with plenty of people, had to be a great deal easier than remaining here with only Lang Dalton for company.

      ‘I’m glad you approve.’ So far so good, he thought, and asked softly, ‘Are you anything of a gambler, Cassandra?’

      ‘No. Are you?’

      He smiled thinly. ‘Not in the usual sense. I have been known to play for high stakes, but only when the odds are stacked in my favour.’

      Something about his answer made her feel uneasy, but, telling herself