Ryan's Revenge. Lee Wilkinson

to save me some prawn crackers.’

      ‘I won’t,’ she promised. ‘Bye for now.’

      As she replaced the handset, the grandmother clock whirred and began to chime six-thirty.

      Might as well ring for her takeaway now, she decided. It usually took between thirty and forty minutes for an order to be delivered, and she’d only had part of a roll for lunch, the remainder having been fed to a family of sparrows who, nesting in the eaves above her office window, had learnt to line up along the sill, bright-eyed and expectant.

      Not that she was hungry.

      But something to eat might help to get rid of the hollow, stomach-churning feeling that had persisted since Ryan had said, ‘Guess who?’ in the park.

      The number of the restaurant was written in Charles’s neat numerals in the book by the phone, but it was Ryan’s face that swam before her eyes as she tapped in the digits.

      ‘The Jade Garden. Good evening…’ a singsong voice responded.

      Her mind still obsessed by Ryan, Virginia, who was usually clear and precise, made a mess of her order and was forced to stumble through it a second time.

      Returning to the living-room, she prowled about plumping cushions and tidying magazines, far too restless to sit still.

      What would Ryan do next? she wondered anxiously. There was no doubt in her mind that he wouldn’t let matters rest. He wanted her, and his sense of purpose was terrifying…

      Though she had lied through her teeth about her relationship with Charles, it hadn’t had the desired effect. Ryan either hadn’t believed her, or hadn’t wanted to.

      Either way, her assertions had failed to provide the anchor, the safeguard, she had been so desperate to put in place.

      But even if he had believed her, would that have stopped him? Remembering the look on his face when he’d said, ‘I’ve no intention of letting anyone else have you’, she felt her skin goose-flesh.

      Just seeing him again, feeling the force of his will, had made her doubt her ability to hold out against him if he kept up the seige.

      No! she mustn’t think like that. If necessary she would tell Charles the whole truth, and beg for his forgiveness and support.

      He was far from being the wimp that Ryan had so contemptuously called him. In fact, in a different and less obvious way he was as strong as Ryan, with a quiet determination and a tensile strength.

      But how could she ask Charles for help, ask him to pretend to be her lover, when she had denied him that privilege by refusing his proposal of marriage?

      All at once she was filled with a burning shame that she’d even considered involving him any further. Somehow she must manage without his help.

      There was one thing in her favour. Usually a brilliant strategist, this time Ryan had made a bad mistake. He had admitted that he was out to make her pay for leaving him, and forewarned was forearmed.

      Though his attraction was as powerful as ever, knowing his intentions would enable her to hold out against him, to freeze him off…

      The peal of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.

      Her takeaway had come a lot quicker than usual. But of course it was still quite early. They wouldn’t yet have had a build-up of customers…

      She fumbled in her bag and purse in hand, went to open the door.

      Taken completely by surprise, her reactions were a trifle slow and, before she could slam the door in his face, Ryan had slipped inside.

      Over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, he seemed to fill the small hall.

      Closing the door behind him he stood leaning with his back to the panels. Wearing stone-coloured trousers and a two-tone, smart-casual jacket, he looked tanned and fit and dangerous.

      ‘Get out!’ she cried in a panic. ‘You have no right to force your way in here.’

      ‘I didn’t exactly force my way in,’ he objected, adding coolly, ‘Though I might well have done had it proved necessary.’

      Surveying the robe, her shiny face and the wealth of ash-brown hair curling loosely around her shoulders, he remarked, ‘You look about ready for bed. But of course Raynor doesn’t take you to bed, does he? He has more…shall we say…inventive ideas.’

      When, her soft lips tightening, she said nothing, he goaded, ‘Tell me, Virginia, where does he usually make love to you? In the kitchen? Lying in front of the fire? On the stairs?’

      ‘Stop it!’ she cried.

      ‘After what you told me earlier, you can’t blame me for being curious.’

      Wishing fervently that she’d kept her mouth shut, she said, ‘I want you to go. Now! Before Charles gets home. He won’t be long.’

      Ryan shook his head. ‘It’s no use, Virginia, my sweet, I know perfectly well that he won’t be in until much later…’

      How did he know?

      ‘And, even if that wasn’t the case, do you seriously think the prospect of Raynor coming home would scare me into leaving?’

      No, she didn’t. Lifting her chin, she threatened, ‘I could always call the police.’

      ‘You could,’ he agreed, ‘but somehow I don’t think you will. After all, the police have a lot more to concern themselves about than what they would undoubtedly class as a trivial domestic problem.’

      In past skirmishes he had proved to be quicker witted than she was, and in any battle of words he almost invariably won. But she couldn’t allow him to win this time.

      ‘It isn’t “a trivial domestic problem,”’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘It’s an illegal entry into someone else’s home.’

      ‘How can it be an “illegal entry” when you opened the door to me yourself?’

      ‘I thought it was my takeaway.’

      Eyeing the purse she was still holding, he said, ‘I see. Well, if you have a meal ordered, perhaps you’ll invite me to stay and share it?’

      Her agitation increasing, she cried, ‘No, I don’t want you to stay. I don’t know why you came in the first place.’

      ‘For one thing, we hadn’t finished our conversation—’

      ‘There’s nothing further to say. I’ll never come back to you, so you’re just wasting your time.’

      As though she hadn’t interrupted, he went on, his voice quietly lethal, ‘And for another, I’m not prepared to let you keep running out on me.’

      For the first time she realised he was furiously angry, and she quailed inwardly.

      He stepped towards her, dwarfing her five feet seven inches, and with a hand beneath her chin, he forced it up. His eyes were focussed on her mouth, his dark face sharp and intent.

      Guessing his intention, she begged, ‘No! Oh, please, Ryan, don’t…’

      But his hand slid round to her nape, tangling in her silky hair, and his mouth swooped down on hers, taking possession, stifling any further protests.

      The purse she had been clutching like a lifeline thudded to the floor and, despite all her efforts to hold aloof, the blood began to pound in her ears and the world tilted on its axis.

      Head spinning, she was engulfed, gathered up and swept away on a tide of conflicting emotions, while every nerve ending in her body zinged into life.

      At first his kiss was hard, punitive, a way of venting his anger, the arm clamping her to him like an iron band.

      But when, scarcely able to stand, she made no attempt to break free, his arm loosened its hold slightly and, instead of being