Fire Beneath the Ice Page 3

  "Come in." The polite smile on her face widened as the tall, good-looking man who had poked his head round the door spoke her name in surprise.

  "Lydia? What on earth are you doing here?"

  "Mike!" She felt inordinately pleased to see a friendly face in the _huge, overwhelmingly decorous establishment.

  "How nice to see you. I'd completely forgotten you work here."

  "You're not working for Wolf, are you?" He came fully into the room and walked over to her desk, his eyes bright with interest. Mike Wilson was the husband of one of her oldest friends, Anna, who had been a tower of strength to her when Matthew died, often arriving unannounced when she was feeling at her lowest pitch to whisk her out to lunch and provide a rock-like shoulder to cry on. Lydia didn't know Mike that well--usually the two women met during the day when the agency didn't have any work for Lydia, or at the weekend when Mike was playing his endless rounds of golf--but whenever they had met, Mike had seemed warm and pleasant, if slightly effusive.

  "Temping." She smiled up at him ruefully.

  "The agency dropped me in the deep end this time, straight to the top."

  "I rather think that's a contradiction in terms, but I know what you mean."

  Mike grinned sympathetically. "Bit of a slave-driver, isn't he, from what

  I've heard?"

  "I don't know really, I've only been here a day or so." A little alarm bell, deep in the recess of her mind, tolled warningly. There had been something in his face, she couldn't quite define what, that had made the words more than what they seemed at face value and, ridiculously, she felt a surge of defensive loyalty to Wolf without knowing why.

  "Well, this is a nice surprise." He wandered round the side of her desk as he spoke, glancing idly at the papers lying on the top of it as he smiled down at her.

  "Wait till I tell Anna."

  "How is she? I haven't seen her for a couple of weeks," Lydia said uncomfortably, feeling she should _cover the detailed report on an important contract that she had just completed and printed, but knowing that it would look as though she suspected him of being nosy.

  "Fine, fine. You know Anna, nothing gets her down." He gestured towards the door of Wolf's office, still with his eyes on her desk.

  "I presume the great man is elsewhere?"

  "Yes." To her relief he moved round the front of the desk again and bent down with his elbows resting on the wood as he spoke quietly.

  "Well, that being the case, could I make a suggestion, Lydia? Wolf is a little... difficult about his personal secretary fraternising with the mere workers." There it was again, that faint caustic note.

  "The reputable Mrs. Havers was a positive iceberg. Have you met her?" Lydia shook her head silently.

  "Well, you haven't missed anything," he continued with a faint grin.

  "Anyway, it might be better for you if Wolf doesn't know we're old friends.

  He wouldn't like it, and as you'll only be around for a short time it seems silly to -make waves, don't you think?"

  "Well, I--' “It might make things a bit uncomfortable for me too," Mike continued quietly.

  "You never know how Wolf is going to jump on things like this."

  "Well, of course I don't want to do anything that might reflect on you,

  Mike," Lydia said quickly.

  "It's just that it seems... unnecessary."

  "It isn't, believe me." He smiled quietly.

  "Well, do we have a deal, then?"

  "Well, I can't see it matters one way or the other, so I suppose it's all right," she said hesitantly.

  "Good girl." His smile widened.

  "And how about you and that delightful little daughter of yours coming to

  Sunday lunch soon? I haven't seen her in months. I'll get Anna to ring you, shall I?"

  "That would be nice, thank you." She forced a smile.

  "And don't forget, not a word about our little secret." He leant across and kissed her lightly as he had done several times in the past, a social gesture, nothing more.

  "Good afternoon."

  If the ceiling had suddenly fallen in on her Lydia couldn't have reacted more violently. She shot out of her chair, hand to mouth, as she stared at Wolf's dark countenance in the doorway. It was clear he had heard, and seen, more than enough.

  "I--I didn't know you were back," she stammered, aware she had gone a brilliant red.

  "Obviously." He eyed Mike coldly.

  "I presume you are in these offices for a reason, Mike?"

  Mike had recovered far more quickly than she had, thrusting his hands casually in his pockets as he faced Wolf with an easy grin.

  "Just wanted a word with you about the figures for Kingston," he said calmly,

  'If it's convenient? "

  "Perhaps later." Wolfs narrowed gaze brushed Lydia's hot face before he gestured to the finished work on her desk.

  "Bring that in, would you? I'll glance through it before I do anything else.

  I want some of those letters to go off tonight." His voice was infinitely cold, and she shivered as she glanced at Mike before gathering the files together.

  "I'll ring you if I have time today, Mike." It was a dismissal, and Mike went without another word, not even glancing in' Lydia direction as he left.

  She followed Wolf into his office and placed the work on his desk.

  "You've been busy." He was looking at the pile of correspondence as he spoke, but she felt the _words were the proverbial two-edged sword and remained silent.

  "Sit down, Lydia."

  She sank into the chair facing his desk as he seated himself without taking his eyes off her troubled face.

  "I didn't know you knew my financial director," he said slowly, his voice expressionless but as cold as ice.

  "You didn't mention it."

  She stared at him helplessly. What on earth was the matter with the man?

  Why did it matter to him who she knew anyway?

  "I..." There was something so chilling in his face that it was freezing her thoughts.

  "I didn't know I had to," she said weakly, his aggressiveness making her feel twice as guilty as she did already.

  "How long have you known him?"

  This was ridiculous, she thought frantically. Pull yourself together, Lydia, explain you are a friend of Anna's, talk to the man. But she couldn't; those ice-blue eyes were totally unnerving and, when she thought back to how the little tableau in the office must have seemed, embarrassment sent its red fingers all over her face.

  "I don't know. “She tried desperately to think of how long Anna and Mike had been married.

  "I think-- ' " No matter. “He straightened suddenly in his chair as though he had just come to a decision, and she stared at him, alarmed.

  "Do you often wear your hair loose for the office?" he asked coldly as his gaze moved to the soft, silky locks lying in a shining veil across her shoulders.

  "My hair?" She raised an unconscious hand to her head as she stared back at him. What had her hair to do with this?

  "I prefer it tied back in the sort of style you wore yesterday," he said coolly.

  "As my secretary you have a certain reputation to maintain, and a neat, unassuming _appearance gives the sort of impression I like in my staff.

  There are always men who are inclined to stand and waste time by the desk of a pretty woman, given the slightest encouragement."

  She really couldn't believe what she was hearing. She stared at him open-mouthed as she wondered if what she had heard was what he had really said.

  "Exactly what are you saying?" she asked, after a moment of stunned silence.

  "I'm saying that I would prefer a more discreet hairstyle," he said calmly as he picked up the phone that had begun to ring on his desk and gestured for her to leave. "If you don't mind."

  There was nothing she could do but leave him to take the call, but as she returned to her own office her wits returned along with a flood of hot colour in her face. The cheek of it. The abso
lute cheek of it!

  Once that call ended she would tell him that she did mind, she minded very much, the arrogant, overbearing-- "Could I leave this with you for Mr. Strade, please?" She came out of her silent fury to see one of the office juniors timidly holding out a large sealed envelope.

  "It's from Mr. Collins in Personnel."

  "Of course." Lydia smiled at the nervous girl, who couldn't have been a day over sixteen, as she took a deep, silent breath. When that call ended, Wolf

  Strade, when it ended. But half an hour later she was still waiting, by which time her anger had cooled, along with her face, and reason had asserted itself. This was a golden opportunity to get on her feet financially, and if she had to put up with this unpleasant, unreasonable male chauvinist pig as the cloud on which the silver lining was placed, then so be it.

  But surely he didn't expect to choose her clothes and _her hairstyle, did he?

  Even the reputable Mrs. Havers couldn't have tolerated that, surely? She sat back in the chair with a puzzled little sigh. She didn't understand a thing about this man and, worse still, she didn't understand how he could get under her skin so badly.

  She had worked for more than a few awkward types in the last three years, but the most she had felt in the past was minor irritation accompanied occasionally by silent contempt for their crassness. But Wolf Strade. He was different. Totally different. And she had a good few months to get through yet. Could she do it? She frowned. Of course.

  She thought of Hannah's bright little face as they had chatted about a Pretty

  Pony beanbag to match the rest of her proposed new bedroom, and sighed resignedly. But it wasn't going to be easy. She had the feeling Wolf Strade didn't like her much, even if he appreciated her attributes as a secretary.

  Still--she. glared across at the closed door as a tiny flame of anger reignited--he shouldn't have given her the job, should he? She was blowed if she was going to be bullied into altering either her manner or her appearance to suit that pompous swine.

  Nevertheless, the next morning she found herself fixing her long hair into a loose knot on the back of her head even as she told herself it was simply because it was less trouble that way. Wolf made no comment when she knocked and opened the door of his office to announce her arrival, wondering as she did so if he lived at the office. He was always around when she left at night and immersed in work when she arrived. She had been right. He was a machine.

  "Could you work on these tapes before you do anything else?" he commanded abruptly as he handed her two audio-tapes from his desk.

  "It's a report involving some complex financial data and I want it done immediately. And make sure you get the numbers right," he added tersely.

  "Of course, Mr. Strade." The tone and the name were a cold rebuke, and he raised his head abruptly to meet the dark, angry gleam in her eyes.

  They stared at each other for a good thirty seconds before he surprised her utterly by leaning back in his chair and running his hand across his eyes with a weary gesture that spoke of utter exhaustion.

  "I'm sorry, I sounded very rude." The icy blue eyes were a little dazed, she realised suddenly, almost as though he hadn't slept.

  "I've been here all night working on this damn mess. Why I employ an accounts department and do the work myself, I'll never know..."

  "You've been here all night?" She saw the shirt was the same one he had worn the day before, but definitely the worse for wear, and the black stubble on his square chin made her heart give a solid little kick against her breasts before she could control it.

  "Crazy, eh?" His smile was very boyish and rueful, and again her heart jerked uncomfortably.

  "The graveyards are full of guys like me who can't let go of a problem until they've beaten it."

  "Or it beats them," she added quietly.

  "Yeah, maybe." He settled back in the big black leather chair, stretching his hands above his head in a way that brought the muscled wall of his chest into stark prominence against the blue silk of his shirt. Some time during the night he had undone his tie and opened the first few buttons of his shirt, and now the sight of the dark, rough body-hair that covered his chest made her hands damp and her throat dry. What is the matter with _me? she asked herself in disbelief. This wasn't sexual attraction, was it? She didn't fancy Wolf Strade of all people. did she?

  "How about a strong cup of coffee, and then maybe I'll grab a couple of hours' sleep on the couch before the meeting at eleven?"

  "Weak tea would be better if you're going to sleep," she answered automatically as her gaze flicked to the large studio couch in a shadowed corner of the huge room. She didn't want to be here when he lay down on that thing. She didn't even try to analyse why.

  "I said coffee." The cold authority was back in his voice but she didn't mind; that other Wolf was too dangerous to contemplate.

  "And strong," he added warningly.

  "Coming up."

  Thankfully he was still sitting in the chair when she returned with the coffee a few minutes later, and she hurried out of the room after depositing the cup in front of him without speaking, her cheeks flushed.

  At a quarter to eleven she was just contemplating gathering every scrap of courage she possessed and venturing into his office to wake him, when the connecting door opened and he stood framed in the doorway, blinking a little in the harsh artificial light overhead.

  "If anyone arrives early, sit them down out here until I buzz," he said abruptly, his eyes red-rimmed.

  "I'm just going for a wash and brush-up."

  "Where?" she squeaked nervously, having visions of her room filled to overflowing with irate managers as they waited and waited.

  "The washroom next door." He glanced at her in surprise.

  "Didn't you know it was there for your use too? I keep a change of clothes in there for emergencies--you can do the same if you wish."

  _"I don't think that will be necessary," she said stiffly, 'and how could I know it was there if you didn't see fit to tell me? "

  "By using your initiative? “he suggested coolly.

  "My initiative?" All thoughts of Hannah's bedroom faded into insignificance.

  "In the three days since I've worked for you I haven't had time to breathe, let alone go exploring this block of concrete." She glared at him angrily.

  "It's got nothing at all to do with initiative, Mr. Strade."

  "I thought blondes were supposed to be cool and unemotional," he said drily, studying her angry face with a superior frown.

  "Are you like this with your husband?"

  "Mr. Strade, I--' She stopped abruptly as hot colour flooded her pale, creamy skin in a hectic flush. She couldn't ever remember having a cross word with

  Matthew. Life had been a flat, tranquil sea with him, with the days stretching out before them, calm and untroubled. In fact, until she had met

  Wolf Strade, she could have sworn on oath that she had the mildest of tempers.

  "And the name's Wolf." His voice disappeared as he stepped through the doorway, and as she sank back in her seat she was aware of feeling slightly disloyal to Matthew's memory without understanding why. She stared at her wedding-ring for a long painful moment and then turned resolutely to the word processor and began to work. These fluttery feelings of excitement and agitation were a direct result of her nerves coping with the unusual sensations of anger and irritation, that was all. That was all. And in view of the self-opinionated, downright arbitrary despot she had been thrust into contact with, it wasn't surprising either. She had never met anyone, male or female, who could make her so mad so _quickly by doing so little. He was so cold, so self- contained. Didn't anything touch him?

  At five to eleven he reappeared in the doorway restored to his usual immaculate self, black hair slicked back, face shaven and a fresh grey silk shirt replacing the blue of the day before. He looked gorgeous. She held his glance with a cold composure that was the best piece of acting she had ever done, and listened as he gave her a list o
f files he needed for the meeting. As she deposited them on his desk two minutes later she caught a whiff of his aftershave and despised herself for the way her stomach clenched in an involuntary response, but she was honest enough to admit there wasn't a thing she could do about it. For some strange reason her body was determined to be aroused by a man she both disliked and disapproved of. Did he know?