Sara Craven - A Bad Enemy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVENpublished her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

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TITLE PAGE A Bad Enemy Sara Craven www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

ENDPAGE Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

COPYRIGHT Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

‘WONDERFUL party, darling,’ the man said. He was smiling owlishly and slurring his words, and Lisle wondered without interest who he was. A friend of Janie’s, perhaps. Certainly no one she knew.

‘Thank you.’ She gave him an absent smile and tried to move past him down the passage to the kitchen. ‘It’s not a wonderful party,’ she thought. ‘It’s a lousy party, and I’m bored out of my skull. I wish they’d all go.’

She was amazed to hear herself. She was the girl who enjoyed life to the full, who only needed a few hours’ sleep, whose pace never slackened.

‘I’m starting to believe my own publicity,’ she thought ruefully.

‘Where are you goin’?’ The man seized her arm, his face plaintive. His fingers felt warm and clammy on her skin, and she had to repress a shiver of distaste.

She tried to detach herself, but he hung on. ‘To get some more ice.’ She kept her voice cool and equable, because she didn’t know who he was. Someone had once made a semi-drunken pass at her at a party, and she’d administered a crushing snub and a slapped face, only to discover when taxed on the matter by a furious Gerard that he had been an important client, and she had just lost Harlow Bannerman a contract that they had wanted. Since then, she had learned to handle the casual fondling, the innuendoes and sometimes blatant propositioning with imperturbable charm. As Gerard had pointed out, it was part of her job.

‘Don’ leave me,’ the man said, and winked at her. ‘I’ve been trying to get you alone all evening.’

She doubted that. The truth was probably that he had seen her slip out of the room and followed, fancying his chances, and now he was blocking the way to the kitchen and leering.

She groaned inwardly, and at the same moment the doorbell pealed loudly. Saved by the bell, she told herself drily, inwardly blessing the late arrival.

She threw the front door open, smiling with determined gaiety, but the man on the threshold didn’t smile back. In fact the expression on his face was almost one of contempt, which was ridiculous considering he was a complete stranger to her.

Lisle wondered for a moment if he was a new neighbour coming to complain about possible noise, because he wasn’t a party guest, or even a hopeful gatecrasher. Instinct told her that.

He said, ‘Miss Bannerman?’

She went on smiling. ‘Yes?’

A dark forbidding face, she thought, the features harshly marked, with a firm-lipped mouth and a nose which had quite evidently been broken at some time in its career, but attractive nonetheless.

He said, ‘Perhaps we could have a private word—preferably out of earshot of that—bear-garden.’ He waved towards the muted roar of the party.

‘Oh dear.’ Lisle raised her eyebrows. ‘So who are you? The police—the bailiffs—the Inland Revenue?—because whoever you are, I think you’ve got the wrong person.’

He shook his head, the wintry grey eyes going impassively over her, taking in every detail of the expensive black dress from the low neckline to the skirt slit as far as her thigh.