Carole Mortimer - Trust In Tomorrow

‘Yes,’ the word was bit out precisely, the man’s manner more icy than ever.

‘Nice,’ she said appreciatively for the want of something better to say, wondering what this man expected of her. It was certainly an exclusive-looking building, she could tell that at a glance, but despite her casual appearance she was accustomed to a certain amount of luxury at home herself; no one could look their best after a ten-hour flight. Although looking at this man perhaps he would, he gave the impression—and she was sure it was a true one—that he always looked immaculate whatever the occasion, even the rain that had so dampened her hat had only slightly darkened his already dark hair.

The elevator had stopped on the eighth floor by this time, and with one finger pressed firmly on the ‘Door Open’ button the man made no move to get out. ‘I believe you have the wrong floor,’ he told her abruptly.

‘I’m sure I don’t,’ she said equally as certainly, not needing to consult the piece of paper in her pocket to know this was where Lucas lived; she had looked at it enough during the flight.

The man’s mouth twisted disdainfully. ‘Let me put it another way——’

‘I wish you would,’ she sighed with weary impatience. ‘I’m in a hurry.’

His mouth firmed now, his eyes coldly assessing. ‘I’m not interested,’ he stated icily.

‘Sorry?’ she frowned her puzzlement.

He sighed. ‘This ploy may have worked with other men but I am not in the market for helping you find your air fare home. That was to be the routine, wasn’t it?’ he scorned.

‘What routine?’ Chelsea demanded impatiently. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t need an air fare. I only just got here.’

‘And you are just about to leave again,’ he told her with grim determination.

‘I don’t think so.’ She shook her head.

‘I do,’ he nodded. ‘You see, I was on to you the moment you entered the building.’

‘On to me?’ she repeated, her brain a little slow after her flight. ‘Maybe you would care to explain that remark?’

‘Certainly,’ he bit out tautly. ‘It was a wet night—a very wet night,’ he added derisively. ‘And you obviously need somewhere to stay tonight,’ he looked pointedly at her suitcase. ‘And I was unfortunate enough to be the one to bump into you.’

‘At least you admit that now!’

‘I admit nothing,’ he ground out. ‘We simply walked into each other, what I said just now was a matter of speech. But the moment you walked on after our collision, stopped, thought for a minute, and then turned back and came into the building after me was when I realised what you were doing.’

And she had thought he had entered the building without giving her a second glance, now it appeared he had been aware of her every movement. ‘What was I doing?’ she prompted, still puzzled by this conversation.

‘Deciding I was a suitable candidate for you to spend the night with——’

‘What?’ she gasped disbelievingly, staring up at him as if he had gone insane, the rest of the conversation now falling into place. ‘Now you listen here——’

‘No, you listen,’ he told her in a controlled voice, the brown eyes cold. ‘You’re too damned young to be up to tricks like this one——’

“‘Tricks” being the operative word,’ she scorned angrily. ‘That’s what you thought you were going to be, didn’t you, my “trick” for the night?’

His expression softened a little at her vehemence, although not much. ‘I’m sure that you wouldn’t have thought of it in that way——’

‘Don’t you believe it, buster,’ Chelsea snapped, her eyes flashing darkly. ‘What you’re talking about is soliciting, and they’re called hookers where I come from too!’

His expression became chilling. ‘If you want to be basic——’

‘Oh, let’s be basic,’ she derided furiously. ‘You can tell me what my next move should be!’ she challenged.

He shrugged broad shoulders, not at all disconcerted by her angry aggression. ‘You watch which apartment I go into, leave it an appropriate amount of time, then knock on my door pretending you have the wrong address for the friend you were supposed to spend the night with, and that you would like to use the telephone. The telephone number conveniently turns out to be a false one too, and I’m supposed to offer to let you spend the night with me.’

‘For a price!’

‘Not necessarily, I’ve heard that picking pockets after the event is quite popular nowadays,’ he commented calmly, looking at her with cool disdain.

‘I don’t know what sort of company you’ve been keeping,’ she scorned. ‘But I don’t go through any man’s pockets before or after the event. But you’re right about one thing …’

‘Yes?’ he prompted arrogantly.

‘I am here to visit a friend,’ she nodded. ‘And I doubt he would be at all amused by the wrong assumption you’ve just made about me!’

‘You’re saying you weren’t looking for a bed for the night?’ he derided mockingly.

‘I’m saying I already have one!’

The brown eyes narrowed at her vehemence. ‘This friend, what’s his name?’

‘I——’

‘I think I should warn you, I know all the tenants on this floor,’ he cut in softly.

‘You would,’ she shot him a resentful glance. ‘But when I tell Lucas what you——’

‘Lucas?’ he echoed sharply, suddenly tense. ‘You mean Lucas McAdams?’

‘Yes,’ she confirmed happily, glad to see how disconcerted he was by this disclosure.

‘Where did you get that name from?’ he demanded to know, his fingers biting into her arm as he tightly clasped it. ‘Tell me!’

Chelsea tried to shake off his grasp, and failed. ‘It happens to be the name of the friend I’m visiting. Now would you let go of my arm!’ She tried to pry his fingers loose.

They wouldn’t be moved, seeming to tighten if anything.

‘Who told you he lived here?’ he demanded briskly. ‘There are no names listed downstairs, and the caretaker is too discreet to reveal the names of any of the tenants.’

‘I told you——’

‘That Lucas McAdams is a friend of yours,’ his mouth twisted. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘And I don’t give a damn what you believe!’ Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, the last two days the worst of her life, this horrific scene with a complete stranger forcing her to breaking point. ‘I am here to see him, and he is expecting me. If you would just——’

‘I believe I would know if I were expecting a young American guest,’ he cut in with calm deliberation.

Chelsea’s eyes widened with disbelief as the full implication of his words hit her. This man, this harshly suspicious man, couldn’t possibly be Lucas McAdams! She remembered him as being youthfully handsome, rather serious, but not a man with a harsh hardness that repulsed as much as it attracted. But seven years ago she had been only twelve, still a child, with a crush on an older man, a man who had seemed almost god-like to her. At nineteen she could see that the ambition that had always been such a driving force in his life in the past, that had taken him to the top of his profession, had also taken all the youth and happiness from him and left only the harsh shell of a man. No wonder she hadn’t recognised him; there seemed to be little of the old, exuberant Lucas left, just an automaton without a heart or soul.

‘I thought that piece of information might surprise you,’ he derided disdainfully.

‘It did,’ she nodded dully. ‘You’re nothing at all like I remember you.’

Impatience flared in the dark brown eyes. ‘I think it’s time to stop this game——’