Only Lover. Кэрол Мортимер

be silly, Daddy. He doesn't look the violent type—powerful, yes, and seemingly completely in control of his own destiny, but not physically violent, at least, not needlessly so.'

      ‘He made quite an impression on you, didn't he, child?'

      ‘Oh yes. He was—well, he was quite something. Frightening, but so very much alive. He seemed to emit suppressed power, as if it only needed some little thing and he would explode into life. But he's cold—so cold, as if love has never touched him, or he has never allowed it to. It's strange really, I only saw him for a few minutes and yet I can remember him vividly.'

      ‘Now then, Farrah,’ her father said briskly, ‘don't become fanciful about the man. Remember, my future depends on him.'

      All the light died out of her face as she sat down again beside her father. ‘Don't worry so, Daddy,’ she hugged him. ‘Everything will work out, you'll see.'

      She told herself the same thing many times over the next day, looking up nervously every time the telephone rang. She had wanted to wear something rather smarter than the fitted denims and checked shirt that she usually wore, but that would have only drawn attention to herself. And that she could quite well do without. Especially after this morning's conversation with Fiona.

      Fiona had sat on the side of Farrah's desk, a tall leggy brunette who was aware of her own beauty without being conceited. She was very popular with both sexes and Farrah returned her smile companionably. ‘Something wrong?'

      She referred to the letters she had just passed on for reply to the older girl. Fiona shook her head. ‘No, these are fine. It's just that—well, you were off sick yesterday, right? Well, I could have sworn I saw you in the building,’ she looked puzzled. ‘In fact I thought you were going up in the private lift to the fifteenth floor.'

      ‘Who, me?’ Farrah did her best to give a teasing smile, she only hoped Fiona was convinced by the shaky result. ‘Going up to Joel Falcone's office? You must be joking!'

      Fiona stood up, smiling self-derisively. ‘I thought I must have been wrong. None of us ever see the great man. I've never set eyes on him, and I've been here nearly four years.'

      ‘Rather elusive, is he?'

      ‘Elusive! The man's positively unattainable.'

      ‘But he's very friendly with Laura Bennett,’ Farrah pointed out, ‘so he can't be that unattainable.'

      ‘His sleeping partner, in more ways than one,’ scoffed Fiona. ‘I've always said business and pleasure shouldn't be mixed, and they're a good example.'

      Farrah looked up now as Tracy beckoned her to the internal telephone. ‘Joel Falcone's office,’ she said in awed tones.

      Farrah quickly took the receiver, turning away from the several pairs of eyes that had turned to look at her at Tracy's outburst. ‘Yes?’ she said breathlessly.

      ‘I want to see you now,’ came the cool clipped tones of her employer.

      ‘Now?’ she repeated stupidly.

      He gave an impatient sigh. ‘Now, Miss Halliday, don't keep me waiting.’ The telephone clicked down firmly at the other end.

      Farrah looked about her awkwardly, quietly making her excuses to leave the office before the girls’ curiosity got the better of them and they actually started to ask questions. She almost ran out of the office, getting into the lift and pressing the button for the fifteenth floor. Her heart began to beat erratically, sounding like a bass drum to her ears. The procedure of yesterday was repeated, except this time she wasn't kept waiting but was shown straight into Joel Falcone's spacious office.

      Again as yesterday, he was seated behind the huge imposing desk, but dressed less formally, the dark grey business suit of yesterday discarded in favour of a black silk shirt opened casually at the neck and black trousers that fitted closely to his long muscular legs.

      His eyes narrowed appraisingly as he took in her own appearance and Farrah put up a nervous hand to ruffle her short cherubic hair. It was an endearing gesture, and made those icy blue eyes narrow even more.

      ‘Miss Halliday,’ he said deeply.

      ‘Mr Falcone,’ she replied huskily. ‘I—er—– You asked me to come.'

      ‘Of course I did, Miss Halliday, I'm not so ancient that my memory fails me,’ his mouth twisted mockingly. ‘We have a conversation to finish.'

      Farrah blinked nervously. ‘Yes, Mr Falcone. You—um—you said you had something to think over.'

      Joel Falcone stood up, his tall lean frame even more intimidating as he came round the desk to stand in front of her. ‘Won't you sit down. Miss Halliday?'

      She looked round at the leather armchair just behind her, dropping down thankfully into its luxurious depth and then wishing she hadn't as she realised how much smaller it made her feel as she looked up at him.

      He began to pace up and down the office, emanating a completely masculine aura as he occasionally looked at her before turning frowningly away again. Suddenly he stopped in front of her. ‘Tell me, Miss Halliday—what do you think of me?'

      Farrah looked at him open-mouthed. Whatever it was she had been expecting it certainly hadn't been a question like this. ‘Wh-What do I think of—of you?’ she asked hesitantly.

      Icy blue eyes pinpointed her to the chair and Farrah moved back involuntarily. ‘Yes, me Miss Halliday, not Joel Falcone your employer, but Joel Falcone the man.'

      What on earth was he talking about? Farrah felt completely bemused. She didn't quite see what this conversation had to do with her father and the taking of this man's money. ‘I don't quite see …’ She shook her head.

      ‘No one is asking you to. Answer the question, Miss Halliday.'

      Farrah looked at him closely to see if he was mocking her, but his expression was unreadable. What could she say about such a man, especially to his face? Her cheeks blushed a fiery red and she sat forward uncomfortably. ‘Well, I—I don't know what to say!'

      ‘The truth would perhaps be preferable,’ he drawled dryly. ‘Speak up, girl. I don't bite—well, not babies like you anyway, and certainly not in these circumstances.'

      She blushed again, looking away from his taunting face. ‘What am I supposed to say? You know what you look like, so why ask me?'

      Joel Falcone sighed in exasperation. ‘I don't mean my physical looks—well, perhaps I do, but I don't mean the fact that I have dark hair, am tall, of Italian descent from my skin colouring, and look my age. I want to know how you feel about me, how my looks affect you?”

      ‘Well, for a start you don't look your age, experienced and—cynical and—–'

      ‘Yes? Well, don't stop now. This conversation could be the deciding point of your father's immediate future.'

      ‘Oh! Oh well, in that case,’ she looked at him critically. ‘You're cynical most of all—and rather condescending. And arrogant. But you're attractive too.'

      ‘Oh, I'm glad about that,’ he interrupted mockingly. ‘Let's concentrate on that, shall we?'

      ‘All right. Well, you have a sort of magnetism, animal magnetism I think they call it. And your features are ruggedly attractive, not handsome, you understand, but very attractive.'

      Joel Falcone walked back around his desk and sat down again, smiling slightly at her embarrassment. ‘So we have established that you don't find me repulsive. That's good—in the circumstances. And I—I don't find you repulsive either. Too young for my taste, but then only I know that.’ He was talking quietly to himself again. He looked up at her. ‘Sorry, honey, I was far away.'

      Farrah shrugged her shoulders. ‘What's all this about, Mr Falcone? I don't understand you.'

      ‘No, I don't suppose you do. But you will—oh, believe me, you will. Do you know