Fire Beneath the Ice Page 2

  "You're back already?" She came out of her reverie abruptly as a cool voice spoke from the doorway, and raised her eyes to meet the direct blue gaze trained on her face.

  "Ready for work?"

  "Of course, Mr. Strade." She smiled mechanically as she tried to keep her nervousness from showing. She could understand why those girls before her could have been initially attracted to him--he really was an absolute dish--but surely within ten minutes of meeting him those ice-blue eyes would have frozen over even the most ardent female heart? She "had never met a less approachable man in her life.

  "Wolf."

  "What?" She forgot to be polite as she stared at him open mouthed

  "We are going to be working in close contact for a ridiculous number of hours a day, so I suggest we drop the formality," he said coolly.

  "I understand your first name is Lydia?" She nodded weakly.

  "And mine is Wolf."

  "It is...?" She really wasn't handling this very well, she thought miserably as she watched the hard mouth tighten at her reaction. It was perfectly clear he had had this conversation more times than he would have liked in his life, but with a Christian name like that it was hardly surprising! She stared at him as she tried to pull herself together. And when added to his appearance and whole demeanour "My father was a wild-life expert involved in an expedition studying the Canadian timber-wolf at the time of my birth," he said coldly, after a few uncomfortable seconds had ticked by.

  "Unfortunately he thought the name rather apt for his baby son and my mother did little to dissuade him."

  "Oh." She blinked tensely.

  "You haven't got a middle name, have you?" she asked tactlessly.

  A glimmer of a smile touched the hard mouth for an instant as he turned away.

  "Fortunately, no. I hardly dare think what that would have been. Now, if you'd care to bring your notebook...?"

  What an incredibly stupid thing to say, Lydia, she berated herself fiercely as she followed him into the massive office a moment later.

  The little incident had been a perfect opportunity to impress him with her diplomacy and discreet delicacy; and all she had managed was, "You haven't got a middle name, have you?" She cringed mentally.

  "Do stop looking so tragic."

  "What?" For the second time in as many minutes, he took her completely by surprise and it showed.

  "In spite of my name, I really don't eat little girls for breakfast, especially when they look like you," he added surprisingly as the shuttered gaze passed remotely over her clear, creamy, translucent skin in which the dark brown of her heavily lashed eyes stood out in startling contrast to the ash-blonde of her hair.

  "Your colouring is most unusual."

  "It's natural." She raised a defensive hand to her hair, sensing criticism as her mind flew back to the remarks he had made on her predecessors.

  "I'm sure it is," he said gravely, without a glimmer of amusement in either his face or voice, although she felt, _somehow, that that was exactly what he was feeling. "Now, do you think you could relax a little? We've one hell of an afternoon in front of us and it would be a great help if you could ease up a little."

  She nodded tightly as anger replaced the nerves. He really did have the most colossal cheek! She wouldn't be feeling like this if he had been halfway to normal. Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face because the quirk to his mouth was definitely wry as he lowered his gaze to the papers on his desk. "Right, then, if you are ready?"

  She was conscious, somewhere towards evening, of being utterly astounded at the speed and energy with which Wolf Strade devoured the workload in front of him, despite a hundred and one interruptions every two minutes and numerous telephone calls for which she, at least, was pathetically grateful. It gave her a chance to check her frantic shorthand and gather thoughts in order for the next barrage.

  The September evening was growing dark outside when she walked dazedly from his office a few hours after entering it, with a small list of several items of correspondence he needed typing before she left. She sat down at her desk with a weary little plop and flexed her aching hand gently. He was some sort of a machine! She stared across at the closed door separating them, aware that her head was pounding, and a distinct feeling of nausea was reminding her that she hadn't eaten all day. Well, she had no time now: it was going to be at least another two hours before she could leave "Lydia?" The box on her desk crackled as it spoke her name abruptly.

  "Order us both coffee and sandwiches and take a break for half an hour.

  You're no good to me looking like you did when you left this room."

  _"I'm fine." She glared at the inoffensive intercom as Wolf's last words made her cheeks burn.

  "I can--' " Do as you are told. “The tone was uncompromising.

  "I rarely make suggestions--that was an order, in case you didn't recognise it."

  Both the harshness of the deep voice and the authoritative arrogance made her hands clench at her sides as she struggled for composure, but it was a good few seconds before she could bring herself to reply. How was she going to stand working for this megalomaniac for five or six days, let alone five or six months?

  "Very good, Mr. Strade." The use of his surname was deliberate and there was a blank silence for a moment before he spoke again.

  "Did you come by car this morning?" he asked coldly.

  She nearly said

  "What?" for the third time that day and checked herself just in time.

  "No, I didn't," she said abruptly.

  "I travelled by tube--it's not far."

  "Then when we're finished here you order a taxi. The name of the firm we use is under T in Mrs. Havers's address-book in the left-hand drawer of the desk, and you charge to the firm's account, OK?"

  There's really no need--' The deep, long-drawn out sigh cut short her protest. "I might have known." His voice was laconic and extremely sarcastic.

  "Here was I thinking I'd found the perfect substitute secretary--pleasant to look at, highly efficient and utterly devoid of fanciful ideas." By that she supposed he meant that with a husband and child in evidence he was safe, she thought furiously.

  "But unless I'm very much mistaken, there is a strong streak of stubbornness in you, Mrs. Lydia Worth.

  Would you really prefer to wander about London on your own late at night when you can be safely transported to your door? "

  _"I don't intend to wander anywhere," she retorted tightly, 'but I am more than capable of getting home--' "Order the taxi ten minutes before you think you've finished," he said sharply, 'and I don't want to hear another word on the subject. "

  She heard him mutter something rude a moment before the click of the intercom signalled the conversation was at an end.

  She wasn't going to be able to stand this. She shut her eyes for a second before lifting the internal phone to call down to the canteen for the coffee and sandwiches. He had to be the epitome of all the qualities she most disliked in the male of the species, he really did. It wasn't so much what he said but the way he said it most of the time--arrogance was far too weak a word to cover such cold, aggressive hostility. Was he like this all the time?

  She was pondering exactly the same uncomfortable thought later that night as she lay in the peace and tranquillity of her bedroom with her head spinning from the impressions of the day. She had finished the work he wanted just before eight, presenting the neat pile of typewritten pages to him in fear and trepidation and waiting by the side of his desk while he checked them through.

  "Excellent." He had raised piercing blue eyes to the soft brown of hers.

  "I can see we are going to get along fine, Lydia, despite a few hiccups.

  Have you ordered the taxi?" She had nodded reluctantly and his mouth had twitched as he lowered his eyes to his desk again.

  "Good. Well I suggest you scoot off home to that husband of yours and reassure him that this won't happen every night. Goodnight."

  "Goodnigh
t." She had just reached the door when his voice had spoken her name again.

  "And, Lydia?" She had turned to face him, her eyes _apprehensive.

  "You really have done a magnificent job today, thank you." And then he had smiled, really smiled, and she had almost reeled from the shock of it, from the transformation it had wrought on his whole face.

  Had he smiled at those other girls like that? she asked herself as she flexed her toes in the warmth from the electric blanket--it was almost

  October now and had been a particularly cold autumn. If so, she could understand why they had been smitten. Not that it affected her like that, she assured herself hastily, definitely not. She knew what he was really like--cold, aloof, hard and quite inexorable, but nevertheless. The softening of the austere classical features would cause any female's heart to give a little jump.

  Thank goodness she was immune. She nodded to herself firmly. He was pleased with her because she did her job well and was guaranteed not to get any romantic ideas about him. Well, that suited her just fine.

  She didn't need any complications in her life at the moment. Hannah more than filled any spare time she had. She turned over in the big double bed and pounded her pillow into shape with unnecessary vigour.

  There had been me odd suitor since Matthew died, but none had remotely stirred her blood or her heart and she had never repeated any of the dates more than once. Perhaps she would never marry again, never find a man to replace Matthew? She shut her eyes and let her thoughts roam where they would.

  She had known Matthew forever: they had grown up next door to each other from babies and she couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been going out with him. Marriage had been a natural progression. He was as familiar to her as her own skin, and life had been _comfortable, peaceful and relaxed with him--no big highs, no desperate lows. Perfect. She curled into a little ball in the warmth of the bed. Their lovemaking had been gentle and infrequent, but that had suited both of them. They had been busy with their separate careers. She didn't believe in the sort of mindless passion one read about in books, anyway. She smiled whimsically in the darkness. Such emotion was a figment of writers' imaginations, poetic licence, and if it became a reality would probably prove to be unbearably uncomfortable.

  The last three years had been a hard struggle, she reflected quietly, and painful at times, but she had managed to get through by her own determination and fortitude, finding within herself a tenacity she hadn't known she possessed. She had still been a child in many ways when Matthew died, protected and cocooned by circumstances and his love, but she had had to grow up very suddenly, and now her hard-won independence was precious, very precious.

  She straightened in the bed, fingering her wedding- band as her thoughts wandered on. It hadn't occurred to her for a long time to take it off--in a way it was a solid link with Matthew that time couldn't erase--but when a friend had hinted she ought to think about doing that very thing, she had been shocked and horrified. Hannah deserved all her time and love for the next few years. Her daughter had been cruelly robbed of her natural father and no one, no one, could replace a father's love. She had seen too many situations where the children of a first marriage were subtly pushed aside as a new baby made an appearance. No. She wouldn't betray Matthew's memory or

  Hannah's trust by giving her anything less than her whole heart.

  Besides. She twisted restlessly in the bed. She had got used to being alone, _to making her own decisions, she had. And everyone got lonely at times, even people who had been happily married for years.

  No, everything was fine in her world, just fine. It didn't occur to her that this was the first time she had ever had to assure herself of the fact, which was probably just as well because sleep was a long time in coming. A certain hard, masculine face, with eyes the colour of a winter sky, kept getting annoyingly in the way.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lydia awoke very early the next morning, aware that she had been dreaming but unable to remember what about. But it had been a disturbing dream. She nicked her long blonde hair out of her eyes and glanced at the tiny alarm next to the bed. Five o'clock. Even Hannah wasn't stirring yet. She padded through to the small bedroom next to hers and stared down at the delicate baby face of her tiny daughter.

  She had been asleep when Lydia had got home the night before. She said a quick mental prayer for staunch grandmothers who insisted baby-sitting was a joy, but she-had missed the nighttime routine of bath and then story in bed with Hannah. She wished she could see more of Matthew in the minute features, but they were all. her own.

  Everyone commented on the remarkable likeness between mother and daughter.

  Within an hour, the instant Hannah opened huge, liquid brown eyes, in fact, the small house was a hive of activity, the normal morning routine of breakfast, shower and dressing taking all Lydia's concentration.

  "You didn't kiss me night-night, Mummy." Hannah's face was reproachful as she spooned corn flakes into her rosebud mouth.

  "Gamma told the story all wrong."

  "Did she, darling?" Lydia stroked the top of the silky blonde head lovingly.

  "You didn't tell her that, did you?"

  "Course not." Hannah was a true diplomat even at three.

  "Are you going to pick me up from nursery today?"

  _"I doubt it, sweetheart." Lydia knelt down by the breakfast stool and cupped the heart-shaped face in her hands.

  "Did Grandma tell you about my job?"

  "Uh-huh." Hannah was distinctly disenchanted.

  "But I want you to pick me up."

  "Well, this job is a bit different from my usual ones," Lydia said carefully.

  "The man I work for needs me to work much longer hours sometimes, but he is going to give me a lot of money if I do that.

  How about if we think of a new bedroom for you? You could choose the curtains and quilt and everything, even a new carpet if you want. "

  "Really?" Hannah planted a swift milky kiss on her cheek.

  "Can I have Pretty Pony, Mummy? Sophie has." Sophie was her best friend at nursery and the two were inseparable most of the time.

  "I should think so." Lydia rose to look down at the small face smilingly.

  "But you must promise to be good for Grandma when she picks you up and brings you home, even if I'm very late. I've only got the job for a little while, so we need to get as much money as we can for your room, don't we?"

  "Yep." Hannah obviously realised she was on to a good thing.

  "Gamma says I'm her little angel," she continued, fishing for praise which

  Lydia dutifully gave. "Little angel' was pushing things a bit far, but then she had never wanted a placid child anyway.

  She was in her office at just before nine after dropping Hannah off at the nursery, which unfortunately was in the opposite direction to the Strade office-block, and found Wolf was already at his desk, his black head bent over a long report as she tapped nervously at the interconnecting door.

  "Come in, Lydia, don't stand on ceremony." He didn't raise his head as he spoke and she _wondered for an instant if he was telepathic as well. "You can get straight on with that dictation from yesterday," he said, after making a few notes in the margin before raising his head.

  "I have an appointment at the other end of the city in an hour, so you should have a relatively undisturbed day." He didn't smile.

  The fine silk shirt he wore exactly matched the clear sapphire-blue of his eyes, she thought inconsequentially as she smiled and nodded her reply before leaving the room, and his aftershave-- She caught her thoughts abruptly, annoyed at the way they were heading. His aftershave was aftershave, that was all, she told herself sharply as she sat down at her desk and pulled out her notebook. He had probably paid a fortune to get the sort of reaction her senses had made when the sensual, intoxicatingly masculine fragrance had reached her nose.

  She worked steadily for the next half-hour, pausing as he left to take a note of where he could be reached, her
face bland and polite as he rapped out the telephone number and name of the firm, his face preoccupied and his voice remote.

  There were several interruptions during the morning, but none she couldn't handle, and after snatching a quick meal in the canteen at lunchtime she continued to work her way through the pages of dictation until three, when a courteous knock at her outer door interrupted her as she had almost completed the notes.