HELEN BROOKS - Web Of Darkness

Cover Page

Epigraph

Dear Reader Dear Reader, Well, Harlequin Presents® is twenty-five years young, and just as stirringly emotive, provocative and exciting as ever. I’m thrilled to be part of the anniversary celebrations, and so hope you enjoy all the books we have for you. I’ve been writing for Harlequin for eight years, and each book continues to be a joy. As I type away, I visit far-flung, exotic shores, drink wonderful wines under azure skies, meet new and fascinating people, and always— always —end up with the most gorgeous man. And they call it work! So read and enjoy, with my love. Helen Brooks

Title Page Web Of Darkness Helen Brooks www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Copyright

Dear Reader,

Well, Harlequin Presents® is twenty-five years young, and just as stirringly emotive, provocative and exciting as ever. I’m thrilled to be part of the anniversary celebrations, and so hope you enjoy all the books we have for you.

I’ve been writing for Harlequin for eight years, and each book continues to be a joy. As I type away, I visit far-flung, exotic shores, drink wonderful wines under azure skies, meet new and fascinating people, and always— always —end up with the most gorgeous man. And they call it work!

So read and enjoy, with my love.

Helen Brooks

www.millsandboon.co.uk

J’OE? That man over there, the one that’s just come in with the blonde woman, who is he?’

‘Where?’ As Joe turned round to follow the line of her eyes, he took in the general entourage surrounding the tall, powerfully built man standing in the hotel foyer, and the slender young blonde hanging like a limpet on his arm, with a wry smile.

‘Oh, that’s Kane Steel, sweetheart. You know, the big property tycoon who owns half of London? He’s probably here for a Press conference. I wondered what all those reporters were doing hanging around. He’s just pulled off one of the biggest mergers ever and the tabloids are greedy for information. Anyway, can we concentrate on the business in hand?’

As Joe turned back to the advertising material spread over the low table where they were sitting having coffee, Janie continued staring through the thin layer of glass separating the coffee-lounge from the foyer. She had known it was him! She had only seen his photo once before when she had been sorting through some of her father’s papers the week after his death, but every feature of that cruel, hard face was burnt into her brain with the force of her hatred. And now he was here. In the flesh. And what was she going to do about it?

What indeed? She found she couldn’t take her eyes off the huge figure as he stepped into the lift, disappearing from sight as the doors closed swiftly behind him. She had made a vow to herself, standing in the pouring rain at her father’s funeral, that if she ever met the revered head of Steel Enterprises he would get what was coming to him. She just hadn’t anticipated the meeting occurring in one of London’s most exclusive hotels during a Press conference.

Still, what can I lose? she asked herself silently. Probably her job, the tiny flat that went with it and most of her friends, she answered mutely with cold humour. Joe Flanders was a boss in a million, but he wasn’t going to like this at all and no one, no one crossed the great machine of Steel Enterprises, let alone the main man. Except her? The thought put iron in her backbone and fire in her eyes. She’d never sleep again at night if she didn’t follow this through. She owed it to herself as well as the mild-tempered man who had given her life.

‘Janie?’ Joe’s touch on her arm brought her eyes snapping back to him and his face straightened at the expression on hers. ‘What is it? Do you feel ill?’

‘I’m sorry, Joe.’ She was already rising as she spoke. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. There’s something I have to do.’

‘We’re meeting the manager at five, in his office,’ Joe said anxiously as he glanced at his watch, ‘and I still want to discuss these photos in more detail. Hurry up, will you? The Ladies is to the right.’

‘OK.’ Once outside in the foyer, she walked straight past the powder-room and over to the large reception desk, keeping her face straight and businesslike.

‘Mr Steel?’ she asked carefully. ‘I understand he’s holding a Press conference and I’m afraid I’m a little late. Perhaps you could direct me…?’

‘Third floor,’ the girl behind the desk said in a bored tone. ‘The conference-room is to your right as you step out of the lift.’

‘Thanks.’ Janie’s heart was beginning to thud like a piston now, but she was in the lift and out at the third floor before the trembling in her legs really took hold. She heard the noise first and, as she quietly opened the door and slipped into the large, richly carpeted room, her eyes swung immediately to the little group seated at the far end behind a magnificent desk of varnished walnut which was positioned on a small raised platform.

‘Can you tell us how much the deal is worth, Mr Steel?’ one of the reporters crowding the room bellowed in her ear as Janie edged her way to the front amid a field of flashing cameras. His reply was lost on her as she reached the brief area of space before the platform. Anyone watching would have seen a rather small girl, a little inclined to plumpness, her dark hair and eyes probably her best features, with a small heart-shaped face that was averagely pretty, no more. What Kane Steel saw, as she moved to stand directly in front of him, was two blazing eyes in a dead-white face that were filled with such bitter enmity that they froze the practised reply he had been about to make and narrowed his blue eyes into cold slits.

‘Mr Steel? Mr Kane Steel?’ The words were piercingly clear and the silence that had gripped the little group on the platform spread in a rippling motion over the rest of the room as the hardened warriors of the Press sensed an unexpected bonus.

‘Yes?’ His eyes flashed over her face with devastating thoroughness. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know you, do I?’ Someone edged forward in the watching tableau as the room held its breath, all the jour-nalists craning their heads, notebooks ready.

‘Not exactly.’ The bitterness was so fierce that she found she was actually having a job to speak. ‘But I know you, Mr Steel. I have good reason to know you.’

‘Would you like to be more explicit?’ he asked icily as he rose and walked round the table, stepping down beside her on the carpet as he gestured for the others at the table to be still.

‘Yes, I would.’ She stared up at him furiously, her cheeks scarlet. ‘My name is Janie Gordon, Mr Steel. My father was Paul Gordon. Ring any bells?’

‘Bell-ringing is not my forte, Miss Gordon,’ he said coldly, ‘and I do not appreciate your version of What’s My Line? in the middle of a busy work schedule. If you have something to say to me then get on with it.’ The frosty eyes dared her to continue. ‘Otherwise get out.’

For a moment the sheer arrogance of the man took her breath away, and then the biting rage that had swamped her two years ago returned in all its deadly savagery.

‘You are a murderer, Mr Steel.’ The hiss of in-drawn breath that swept round the room was lost on her; she was blind and deaf to anything but the stone-hard face in front of her. ‘A cold-blooded, despicable brute. You hounded my father for the sake of a few thousand pounds, which must be a drop in the ocean to you, until he lost everything, including the will to live. What does it feel like to have a man’s death on your conscience, Mr Steel, or haven’t you even thought about it?’ The vivid spots of colour burning her cheekbones brought the deathly whiteness of the rest of her face into even more stark contrast and no one could doubt that she meant every word she said.