Whirlwind by Charlotte Lamb Page A

mixture of shock, anger and worrying excitement.
    'Didn't I make myself clear last time?' she demanded furiously. 'I thought I'd spelt it out in letters ten feet high! I don't want to see you, Mr Montgomery. I'm not for sale, I don't want your red roses, and there won't be any more candlelight dinners for two, in your penthouse or anywhere else! You'll never get me into bed again, so stop trying! You wouldn't have got me there the first time if you hadn't poured all that champagne into me and got me too drunk to know what I was doing!'
    He listened without moving, his eyes narrowed, gleaming like deep cold water. 'Oh, you were very drunk,' he agreed softly, and Anna's teeth met.
    'How can you be so cool about it?' she hissed through those clenched teeth. He had no conscience and no scruples, but what angered her most of all was her own unwilling awareness of a permanent, pulsing attraction towards him. That night in the penthouse she had met a man she increasingly liked; she remembered laughter and talk between them, moments when she felt totally at home with him, trusted him. How could she have been so fooled?
    He considered her drily, his head to one side. 'Tell me, how much do you actually remember?' he enquired, and Anna looked at him in utter disbelief.
    'My God, you really are a bastard, aren't you? What do you want—a cosy chat about old memories? All I want to do is forget it ever happened, I ever met you; I'm not standing around here reminiscing with you!'
    He lifted a lazy hand to her face, his fingertips caressing, and she jumped as if she had touched a live wire.
    'Get dressed, I'll wait downstairs,' he ordered, and when she opened her mouth to protest he laid his palm across it. 'No, not another word! My parents are expecting you, they liked you very much, and you'll be quite safe in their house, I promise you.'
    'Your promises are worthless,' she muttered, frowning. She didn't know what to do; she was tempted to go because she had liked his parents and she was curious about them, about everything to do with Laird's background. Curiosity killed the cat, she reminded herself, watching him walk to the door. If she had any sense she would refuse to leave this room, but she knew with an angry, helpless frustration that she was going to obey him, get dressed and let him drive her off in his Rolls. Her curiosity was too strong to resist.
    Once he was out of the room, she hurried over to bolt the door, and heard him pause on the top stair and laugh softly.
    'Five minutes, then I'm coming back to get you,' he threatened, and Anna made a face at the door as she heard him run downstairs.
    She picked up the black dress and held it against herself, staring at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror.
    Hardly Dior, was it? But perhaps that was just as well! She wasn't trying to attract anybody, was she?
    'Au contraire, cherie,' she told her reflection angrily, pretending not to notice the glitter in her eyes and her feverish colouring. 'You're crazy, you know,' she warned that unfamiliar, unrecognisable face. 'Playing with dynamite isn't a good idea!'
    But what possible harm could there be in getting to know his parents a little better? Or in seeing their home, finding out more about Patti, even more importantly getting a free lunch, and, no doubt, an absolutely terrific one!
    What would she do if she didn't accept? She had some cheese and eggs—a cheese omelette? And after lunch a bus ride to the Embankment and yet another wander around the Tate, admiring modern art and trying not to look too hard at the still life paintings because the grapes and apples made her feel so hungry!
    She smoothed the little black dress down over he hips, frowning at the way it clung; the deep plunge of the neckline made her uneasy and she had forgotten how insistently it outlined every curve of her body. She brushed her hair until it glittered fiercely and did her make-up with great care, wishing she had something else to wear. Jeans were