Kay Thorpe - All Male

“You just can’t accept it, can you?” “You just can’t accept it, can you?” “Accept what?” “That the woman exists who can find you resistible.” “Is that a challenge?” “No, it damn well isn’t!” Kerry said, furious with herself for getting involved in any kind of repartee with the man. “As I’ve said before, I’m here to work, not to play games with you!” “I don’t recall you saying that before. Not in so many words, at any rate.” He was openly laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like your style, Kerry. So refreshingly astringent! Makes me wonder if that’s the real you—or if there’s a softer side underneath it all....” “If there is you’re unlikely to find it!” “Now that,” Luke returned, “is quite definitely a challenge!” About the Author KAY THORPE was born in Sheffield, England, in 1935. She tried out a variety of jobs after leaving school. Writing began as a hobby, becoming a way of life only after she had her first completed novel accepted for publication in 1968. Since then, she’s written over fifty books and lives now with her husband, son, German shepherd dog and lucky black cat on the outskirts of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. Her interests include reading, hiking and travel. Title Page All Male Kay Thorpe www.millsandboon.co.uk CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Copyright

“You just can’t accept it, can you?”

“Accept what?”

“That the woman exists who can find you resistible.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No, it damn well isn’t!” Kerry said, furious with herself for getting involved in any kind of repartee with the man. “As I’ve said before, I’m here to work, not to play games with you!”

“I don’t recall you saying that before. Not in so many words, at any rate.” He was openly laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like your style, Kerry. So refreshingly astringent! Makes me wonder if that’s the real you—or if there’s a softer side underneath it all....”

“If there is you’re unlikely to find it!”

“Now that,” Luke returned, “is quite definitely a challenge!”

KAY THORPE was born in Sheffield, England, in 1935. She tried out a variety of jobs after leaving school. Writing began as a hobby, becoming a way of life only after she had her first completed novel accepted for publication in 1968. Since then, she’s written over fifty books and lives now with her husband, son, German shepherd dog and lucky black cat on the outskirts of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. Her interests include reading, hiking and travel.

All Male

Kay Thorpe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THE silver-framed portrait on the side table close by Estelle Sullivan’s chair drew Kerry’s eyes, making it difficult to concentrate on what the older woman was saying. It’s subject was an assertively masculine face in its lean strength of feature, with a hint of sensuality about the well-shaped mouth. Steely grey in colour, the eyes seemed to be looking straight back at her, although they gave little indication of what their owner might be thinking.

Registering her distraction, Estelle turned her head to look at the photograph.

‘My son,’ she said with a hint of humour. ‘He always did tend to draw feminine attention.’

And take advantage of it, thought Kerry with uncustomary cynicism, wondering if the connection had ever been publicised. Considering the amount of interest both mother and son had each generated in their time, it seemed unlikely to have been missed altogether—although the career paths were certainly far enough apart.

‘A lot of media attention too,’ she remarked on what she hoped was a suitably light note.

‘One of the crosses the successful must bear with.’ Estelle sounded a little cynical herself. ‘Given the right kind of hype, this book may even put my name back in lights again for a while.’

‘I shouldn’t think there’s much doubt of it. It’s only been two years since your retirement from the theatre.’ Kerry hesitated a moment, before tagging on diffidently, ‘Did you consider making a come-back?’

Silk-clad shoulders lifted. ‘If I were ten years younger I might attempt it, but sixty is a little over the hill to start rebuilding a career.’

‘Hardly from scratch. You’re one of our finest actresses!’

Estelle smiled. ‘Thanks for the present tense, but two years’ rest makes a lot of difference.’

‘I wouldn’t call nursing a sick husband a rest exactly.’

‘You give me too much credit. I was simply there with him. Others did all the work.’

‘Being there is surely the most important part,’ Kerry insisted. ‘It must have meant a lot to him.’

‘It meant a lot to me too. We had so little time together. These last six months have seemed an eternity.’ The beautifully modulated voice became brisk again. ‘One of the reasons I decided to write my memoirs. I’ve enjoyed an eventful enough life. Now that Richard’s gone there’s no harm in revealing some of the more spicy details from my past.’ The last with a sudden roguish twinkle in her eyes. ‘The only way to capture public interest these days.’

Kerry couldn’t argue with that. ‘How will your son react?’ she ventured.

‘Lee?’ Estelle laughed. ‘He’s no angel himself!’

She wouldn’t argue with that either, Kerry thought. At thirty-three, Lee Hartford was one of the country’s most successful industrialists: a regular Midas whose every touch turned to gold. His turnover in women was legendary too. Almost every time one opened a newspaper, there he was with yet another in tow. Sarah was no doubt far from the only one to get hurt, though that made it no better for her. She still wasn’t fully over him a whole year later.

‘How long have you been with the agency?’ asked Estelle, returning to the main purpose of their meeting.

Kerry refocussed her attention. ‘Just under a year. I like a change of scene.’

‘You’ve done this kind of work before?’

‘No, but I’d enjoy the experience.’

The fine grey eyes twinkled again. ‘That’s what it’s all about. When can you start?’

‘Right now, if you like,’ Kerry acknowledged, and elicited another laugh.

‘Monday will be time enough. Lee is due back this morning. He’s been out of the country this last week. Hopefully, he’ll be coming straight on home from the airport.’

Kerry tried not to let her reactions show in her expression. Up until this moment it hadn’t occurred to her that mother and son might share the same house.

‘He insisted I come to live with him after Richard died,’ said Estelle, as if guessing her thoughts. ‘We get along well enough to make the arrangement work, although I’ll naturally be moving out to a place of my own when he eventually marries. Not,’ she added, ‘that it’s likely to be imminent. He’s still far too fond of playing the field!’

‘Does he know about the memoirs?’ asked Kerry, not about to be drawn into any comment on that score.

‘Not yet.’ Estelle paused, appraising the vibrant face before her with its wide-spaced green eyes, high cheek-bones and expressive mouth framed by the tumble of chestnut hair. ‘Just as a matter of interest, did you ever consider doing photographic work? Your colouring is superb!’

It was Kerry’s turn to laugh. ‘I’m sure it takes a lot more than just colouring.’

‘You have the bone structure too. A shame to waste it.’ Estelle’s voice became brisker. ‘I’ve been jotting down notes for the last week or so, but they’re very fragmentary. I thought if I just lay back and let it come as I recalled it all might be the best method. It can be revised afterwards. That’s providing you can work that way, of course?’