Sandra Marton - A Woman Accused

It was the same way he’d kissed her the first time, it was an angry, overpowering kiss meant to remind her of who was in charge and of what he thought of her, and it sent rage rocketing through her.

‘I hate you,’ she whispered fiercely.

Edward went very still. ‘Do you?’ he whispered, and suddenly there was a subtle change in the way he was holding her. His arms were just as hard, his embrace as unyielding. His body burned against hers with the same urgency. But there was a strange kind of longing in the way he held her. His kiss changed, too. It gentled, asked instead of demanded, gave instead of took.

‘Olivia,’ he whispered, and with a little sob of defeat she lifted her arms and wound them tightly around his neck. She pressed herself to him, wanting the feel of him imprinted on her breasts, on her belly, wanting to feel the silken darkness of his hair under her caressing hand, to feel the heat of his mouth on hers.

He thrust her from him so suddenly that she almost fell. Her lashes lifted; she stared into his face, watching as his eyes went from sea-dark to ice.

‘You see?’ he said. ‘It would be terrific.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But I’m not really sure I want to take another man’s leavings.’

She didn’t hesitate. Her hand came up and she hit him, hard, across the cheek. The crack of flesh against flesh was like the crack of lightning, and echoed through the small room. The look that flashed across Edward’s face was ominous, but Olivia was past caring.

‘You bastard,’ she said in a choked whisper. ‘You can’t come into my home and treat me like this! Just who in hell do you think you are?’

His smile was slow and lazy, as if she’d finally asked him the only question worth an answer, and he seemed to take an eternity before he answered.

‘I thought you knew,’ he said softly. ‘I’m Charles Wright’s stepson.’

She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re not. You’re a relative of his w...’

‘I’m his stepson, Miss Harris. And I’m here to see to it that you don’t keep one cent of what rightly belongs to my mother.’

‘Your—your mother? But Charles was divorcing her.’

He laughed. ‘Did he tell you that, too? Hell, it must have been his favourite bedtime tale.’ The laughter fled his face. ‘Listen and listen well, baby, because I’m only going to say this once before I let my attorneys do the talking.’ One arm swept out in a gesture that took in everything: the flat, the floors beneath, and, Olivia knew, her very existence. ‘You’re not going to keep any of it. Not this place, not the apartment leased in your name on Sutton Place—’

‘What apartment?’

‘You’re going to lose it all, Miss Harris. My lawyers and I will see to that. So maybe you’d better shine up your shoes and go for a stroll. Pick a good spot, baby, and with any luck you might be able to find another sucker to replace good old Charlie.’

Olivia wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Get out,’ she whispered, ‘you—you...’

His teeth glinted in a quick smile. ‘The lady’s finally at a loss for words.’ Turning, he reached for the doorknob. ‘Not to worry, darling. Talk isn’t what you’re best at anyway.’

She took a step towards him. ‘Get out of my house!’

‘Enjoy it while you can.’ He laughed softly. ‘It won’t be yours much longer.’

The door opened, then slammed shut, and Olivia was finally, mercifully, alone.

OLIVIA sat at her desk, her dark head illuminated by the light from the brass gooseneck lamp beside her. It was late, almost eight o’clock on a Wednesday evening, and the studio was quiet, the silence broken only by the whisper of paper as she leafed through the documents that had been contained in the file folder that now lay on the floor beside her.

She read slowly, carefully, scanning the words with intensity, until they began to dance before her eyes, and then she sat back, put her hands to her temples, and sighed deeply.

The papers proved what she’d known, all along. Edward Archer’s threats had been just that—threats, nothing more. Olivia’s Dream was hers, lock, stock and drapery rods. So long as she made her loan payments and mortgage payments on time, she had nothing to fear from anybody.

Why had she let him intimidate her so? She wasn’t the sort of woman who could be driven into a corner—you couldn’t be, not if you were going to get ahead in business. As for the rest...

Olivia got to her feet. She didn’t even want to think about the rest, about how she’d let him force a response from her when he’d kissed her, so that she’d behaved exactly like the woman of low morals he’d accused her of being. All she could do was hope that he, even in his incredible arrogance, understood that she’d acted that way because she’d been distraught and confused, that her momentary weakness in his arms hadn’t had a damned thing to do with him.

Not that it mattered. She would never have to face him again. He’d made threats, and that was it. He’d known, all along, that he didn’t have a leg to stand on. The money Charles had lent to her was hers, so long as she kept up her end of the repayment agreement, and nobody, not even Archer, could do a thing about it.

As for the ugly things he believed about her relationship with his stepfather—well, that didn’t surprise her. The Edward Archers of this world were only too ready to believe the worst. They were men of privilege and money who thought girls—and women—of a different class were toys that could be bought for a price.

Once he found out that it was Ria who’d been involved with his stepfather and not she, there would be the satisfaction of rubbing his patrician nose in the information.

Olivia sighed as she tucked the legal papers into their folder. Well, that would have to wait for later. She couldn’t say anything about Ria, not until she’d talked with her—and Ria wasn’t talking to anybody just yet. The only communication she’d had from her was a short note delivered by messenger the day after Edward Archer’s explosive visit.

‘Oh, Livvie, it’s awful!’ the note had said in Ria’s spidery hand. ‘We’ll talk soon, but right now I need to be alone. I know you’ll understand. Bless you.’

There was nothing to do but dig in and wait for Ria to surface, Olivia thought as she put the folder in the wall safe and closed the door. Until that happened, she’d keep a stiff upper lip and go on about her business, which was making Olivia’s Dream succeed. And Edward Archer could just take all his angry threats and—

‘Olivia?’

Olivia clapped her hand to her heart and swung around. Dulcie was standing in the open doorway, her shoulder-bag on her arm, a steaming mug in her outstretched hand.

‘Dulcie!’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘You scared me half to death. I thought you’d left an eternity ago.’

‘Coffee? You look as if you could use some.’

‘Thanks.’ Olivia took the mug, blew lightly on the black liquid, then took a sip. ‘Perfect. You’re right, this is exactly what I needed.’ She took another mouthful, then put the mug on her desk. ‘What are you doing here?’

Dulcie walked into the room and leaned back against the desk. ‘There’s no easy way to tell you this,’ she said. ‘But—there’s something you should see in today’s Chatterbox .’

‘That rag?’ Olivia made a face. ‘What could possibly be of interest to us in—?’

‘It’s—it’s about Charles.’

‘About Charles? But...’ Olivia went very still. Why was Dulcie looking at her that way? ‘Maybe you’d better tell me what the article was about,’ she said softly.

‘I hate these tabloids,’ the girl said with sudden ferocity. ‘They’re just—just so sleazy. I mean, hey, the guy was your partner, that’s all, he—’