HELEN BROOKS - Fire Beneath The Ice

‘Not long, sir.’ There was a brief pause while they heard him talking to someone else. ‘About twenty minutes or so at the most.’

‘Right, keep me informed.’

As he turned to face her fully again she spoke quickly in case he thought he had to continue the role of comforter. ‘I’m fine now, really.’ She smiled brightly. ‘It was just the suddenness of it all.’

‘Good.’ He clearly thought she was just trying to be brave, because the expression of gentle concern that was so surprising on the harsh features didn’t lessen. ‘Well, we may as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait. I suggest you take off your coat—it’s already getting a little warm in here.’

‘Right.’ As she shrugged the jacket off her shoulders he moved quickly and drew it down her arms, his light touch burning her flesh as his fingers briefly made contact.

‘Sit on this.’ He made his own coat into a large cushion, crouching down as he plumped it into shape. As she sat down on the wad of material he gestured at his tie. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked mildly. ‘I don’t like these things at the best of times.’

‘Of course not.’ He stood up again, for which she was supremely grateful. The way the material of his trousers had moulded to his thighs had caused her breathing a few problems. He unbuttoned his jacket, revealing the grey silk shirt tucked into the flat waistband of his trousers, and then loosened his tie, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. Somehow, in the close confines of the small lift, the action was painfully intimate, but for the life of her she couldn’t draw her eyes away from his broad shoulders and muscled chest, the dark body-hair beneath the shirt causing hot colour to surge into her cheeks. Was he hairy all over? She shut her eyes against the thought.

‘OK?’ Her eyes snapped open to see him sitting against the opposite wall, his narrowed gaze fixed on her face. ‘You look hot.’

‘No, I’m absolutely fine.’ She smiled brightly.

As she brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek his eyes followed the action, his gaze resting on the smooth blondeness of her hair. ‘How did you come to get such unusual colouring?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Your hair is so fair and yet your eyes are almost black.’

‘I don’t know.’ She tried for a casual smile—that piercing gaze was more than a little unnerving. ‘Some errant gene, I suppose, but it must be a strong one. Hannah, my daughter, is exactly the same. Everyone says she is a carbon copy of me.’

‘Do they?’ There was something in his expression she couldn’t read and it unnerved her still more. ‘Your husband is a very lucky man to have two beautiful females to love,’ he said, after a few strangely tense seconds had ticked by.

Lydia’s stomach clenched and she looked away quickly, her eyes downcast. How could she reply to that? She took a long, hidden breath and prayed for calm. ‘How long have we been in here now?’ she asked tensely.

‘About ten minutes.’ He didn’t glance at his watch as he spoke; his gaze never left her face. ‘Shut your eyes a moment and try to relax,’ he added gently. ‘Take a few deep breaths and regulate your breathing.’ He thought there was a danger of her hyperventilating? Lydia thought weakly. How right he was, but not for the reason he imagined! Nevertheless, she did as he instructed, leaning back against the wall of the lift and shutting her eyes tight as she folded her arms protectively over her breasts. The dim light from the emergency batteries in the lift’s back-up system produced a dull charcoal glow against her closed eyelids, and after a few seconds she heard Wolf’s briefcase snap open and the rustle of papers.

He was going to work now? She opened incredulous eyes to see him crouched over a long report, a slight frown wrinkling his brow as he peered at the small figures in the shadowy gloom. He was unbelievable, quite unbelievable. Didn’t he ever stop working? She smiled bemusedly.

‘What?’ She hadn’t been aware that the blue eyes had flicked upwards, but now saw they were trained on her face.

‘I’m sorry?’ She was flustered and it showed.

‘You were smiling, a Mona Lisa smile if I may say so,’ he added softly. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, nothing, it was just——’ She stopped abruptly as she wondered if she dared tell him. Oh, blow it, he had asked, after all. ‘I was wondering if you ever stop working,’ she said quietly, ‘that’s all.’

‘Do I detect a note of disapproval?’ he asked smoothly as he crouched back on his heels, the position emphasising strong muscled legs and hard inner thighs.

‘Not really.’ She smiled with what she hoped came across as cool composure. ‘I’m sure it needs your sort of dedication to stay at the top in this business——’

‘You’re right,’ he interrupted expressionlessly, ‘it does.’ He stood up slowly, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. ‘But that is only part of it. I like what I do, that’s the bottom line.’

‘Yes…’ She shook her head slowly. ‘But incidents like the Mike Wilson thing, don’t they bother you at all?’

‘Mike Wilson has been dealt with before he could do any damage,’ he said coldly, ‘and, more importantly, has been seen to be dealt with. He will serve as a timely example of what happens if anyone is stupid enough to try and cross me, so, if anything, I have gained, not lost, from the episode. That being the case, why should it bother me?’

She stared at him silently, shocked by the blatant ruthlessness his words revealed. ‘But he has a wife and child,’ she murmured, after a pregnant pause. ‘You said yourself he’ll never get another job——’

‘That is his concern, not mine.’ The handsome face was stony now. ‘He had an excellent and extremely wellpaid position with me, which he chose to put in jeopardy through his own greed. He has lived an executive life-style for several years, complete with large house, private schooling for his boy, all the trappings wealth brings, and that has been on the salary I have paid him. If you are asking me to feel guilty, forget it. I don’t.’ He eyed her grimly. ‘Besides which, the Mike Wilsons of this world always get by,’ he finished brusquely.

He was right. She had to admit there was more than a grain of truth in what he said, and he had had the option of giving Mike enough rope to hang himself but decided against it, and yet…She too rose, very slowly, to stand looking at him across the few feet of space. Did he have to be so cold, so remote, so untouched by it all? She doubted if he had any normal feelings at all or, if there were a few, they were deeply encased in solid ice.

‘I can understand what you are saying but——’ She stopped abruptly, not quite knowing how to continue. This was her boss, when all was said and done, her bread and butter, so to speak.

‘But?’ His expression was cynical and cold, and suddenly Lydia knew he was totally aware of her feelings about the matter and they didn’t bother him an iota. He was a man who would always do exactly what he thought was right in any situation in which he found himself, and to hell with the rest of the world. Her own mouth hardened, but even as she opened it to speak the security guard’s voice crackled over the intercom again.

‘Mr Strade?’

‘Yes?’ Wolf’s voice was clipped.

‘Any minute now, sir. Are you all right in there?’

‘Fine, Rogers.’ He bent, stuffing the papers back in his briefcase, and gesturing to her coat by her feet. ‘I suggest you put that back on,’ he said calmly as he reached across for his own. ‘No doubt it’ll strike cold once we’re out of this sauna.’