Instant Fire

‘We’re rather busy at the moment,’ the girl told her. ‘It’ll be twenty minutes.’

‘Twenty minutes!’

Clay took the phone from her hand and spoke into the receiver. ‘We’ll leave it, thank you.’ He hung up. ‘I can’t have you late for work, can I? Not a dedicated career-woman like you. You’ll be quite safe, I promise.’

Before she could protest further he had opened the door and swept her towards the car. Settled against the worn leather, Jo was aware of a certain breathlessness. On site, except for visits from the project manager, she was in control. But she had somehow lost that control when Clay Thackeray had walked into her office. The word safe was completely inappropriate. He was a dangerously disturbing man.

They didn’t speak as they sped along the country lanes and it was with a certain relief that Jo saw the site earthworks appear above the hedge. Clay pulled into the yard and stopped. She tried to escape but he was faster, catching her hand as she moved to release the seatbelt, holding it against his chest so that she could feel the steady thudding of his heart.

‘Now you have to decide, Jo Grant.’

Jo glared at him. ‘You promised!’

‘Did I?’ He challenged her softly. ‘I remember saying that you would be safe. I didn’t specify what I would keep you safe from.’

How could such open, honest eyes hide such a devious nature? she fumed. ‘In that case I’ll get it over with now, if it’s all the same to you.’ Ignoring the fact that they had the rapt attention of the site staff, she closed her eyes and waited. A soft chuckle made her open them again. Clay was shaking his head.

‘Round one to you, ma’am. On points.’ He leaned across and pushed open the door for her. For a moment she sat, completely nonplussed. ‘Well? Are you going to sit there all afternoon? I thought you were in a hurry.’

‘Yes.’ She made an effort to pull herself together. ‘Thank you again for lunch,’ she said, auto-matically.

She climbed from the car and walked quickly across to her office, firmly refusing to give in to the impulse to look back.

It was Thursday before he phoned. A whole week.

‘Joanna?’ Her heart skipped a beat as the low voice spoke her name.

‘Clay?’ she echoed the query in his voice, but ruefully acknowledged that the man knew how to play the game. She had been on tenterhooks all week, expecting him to turn up at the site every moment. The mere glimpse of a grey car was enough to send her heart on a roller-coaster. But he hadn’t come and she had called herself every kind of fool for refusing his invitation to dinner. And then called herself every kind of fool for wanting to get involved with him. He was completely out of her reach. She hadn’t the experience to cope with such a man. She hadn’t the experience, full stop.

‘How are you, Joanna?’ She could almost see the cool amusement in those eyes.

‘Fine, thank you. And you? Are you enjoying your holiday?’

‘Not much. I’ve been in the Midlands all week on business. But you could change all that. Have dinner with me tonight.’

‘Have all your old girlfriends got married while you’ve been away?’ she parried, a little breathlessly, not wishing to seem too eager.

He chuckled. ‘Most of them. It has been nearly seven years. Will you come?’

‘I …’ For a moment there was war between desire and common sense. Desire had no competition. ‘I’d love to.’

CHAPTER TWO (#u88da8f6c-dce4-5928-bd2a-321f645ceb33)

IT WAS late when Jo finally parked the car behind the old house in the nearby market town of Woodhurst. She let herself into the first-floor flat that she had rented for the duration of the job and dumped her shopping on the kitchen table.

She wasted very little time in the shower and quickly dried her hair, a thick, dark blonde mop, streaked with pale highlights from so much time spent out of doors. There had been a time when she had wondered what it would be like to have curls like her sister, but had long since accepted the fact that they weren’t for her. Her nose was a little too bold and her mouth overlarge. Curls, a kindly hairdresser had told the fourteen-year-old Joanna as he’d cut away the disastrous results of Heather’s attempt to provide the missing locks with a home perm, were for those girls whose face lacked character. She hadn’t believed him, even then, but these days she was content with a style that needed little more than a cut once every three weeks to keep it looking good.

Satisfied with her hair, she spent a great deal longer than usual on her make-up and painted her nails pale pink. Tonight she was determined to be Joanna Grant. Jo the site engineer could, for once, take a back seat.

She had few evening clothes and she hadn’t needed to deliberate on what she would wear. She stepped into a floating circle of a skirt in pale grey georgette and topped it with a long-sleeved jacket in toning greys and pinks with a touch of silver thread in the design. She fastened large pale pink circles of agate twisted around with silver to her ears and regarded the result with a certain satisfaction. It was quite possible, she thought, with some amusement, that, in the unlikely event they should bump into any of her colleagues tonight, they would be hard pressed to recognise her.

Slipping her feet into low-heeled grey pumps, Jo spun in front of her mirror, coming to a sudden halt at the sound of her doorbell. She stood for a moment, as if rooted to the spot, vulnerable, uncertain of herself. Then the fear that he might not wait lent wings to her heels as she flew to the door.

Clay, his tall figure a study in elegance in the stark blackness of a dinner-jacket, was leaning against the stairpost regarding the toe of his shoe, and he glanced up as she flung open the door. He started to smile and then stopped, cloaking the expression in his eyes as he straightened and stared at the girl framed in the doorway.

‘Are those for me?’ Jo asked finally, to break the silence.

He glanced down at a spray of pink roses as if he couldn’t think where they had come from, then back at her.

‘I rather think they must be.’

‘Come in. I’ll put them in some water. Would you like a drink?’ she asked, trying to remember what she had done with a bottle of sherry left over from Christmas.

‘No, thanks.’ He followed her into the cramped kitchen and watched as she clipped the stems and stood them in deep water to drink.

She turned to him. ‘These are lovely, Clay. Thank you.’

‘So are you, Joanna. No one would ever mistake you for a boy tonight.’ He took a step towards her then turned away, raking long fingers through his hair. ‘I think we had better go.’ For the briefest moment it had seemed as if he was going to kiss her, and the thought quickened her blood, sending it crazily through her veins. Instead he opened the door and she followed him down the stairs to the waiting taxi.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘A little place I know by the river.’ This deprecating description hardly did justice to the elegant restaurant overlooking the Thames and she told him so.

‘I thought you would like to come here.’ He seemed oddly distracted.

‘It’s beautiful.’

He turned and looked down at her. ‘Yes. It is.’ He lifted his hand to her cheek, his fingertips lingering against the smooth perfection of her skin. ‘Quite beautiful.’

‘May I show you to your table, sir?’

Clay dragged himself back from wherever his thoughts had taken him and he tucked his arm under Joanna’s. They made a striking couple as they walked across the restaurant and several heads turned to follow their progress. Joanna was usually forced to disguise her height when walking with a man, never wearing high heels and, if not exactly slumping, at least keeping what her father had laughingly described as a very relaxed posture. Now, beside the strong figure of Clay Thackeray, the top of her head just reaching his ear, she stretched to her full height, human enough to enjoy the knowledge that she was envied by at least half the women present. Probably more.

Afterwards she couldn’t have described anything they had eaten or much of what they had talked about, although she thought he had told her something about a consultancy that he had begun in Canada and his plans for expansion into Britain. All she could remember was Clay’s face in the candlelight, his hand reaching for hers across the table, the words, ‘Let’s go home.’

In the back of the car she curled against him as if she had known him for years. His arm drew her close and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to rest her head on his shoulder. She didn’t think about where they were going. She didn’t care, as long as he held her.

The car eventually stopped and she lifted her head. ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

‘You are home, fair lady. Where did you expect to be?’

Glad of the darkness to hide her blushes, she allowed him to help her from the car.

‘I’ll see you to your door.’

She turned to him at the top of the stairs. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘I think I’m going to have enough trouble sleeping, Jo.’ His arm was around her waist and she didn’t ever want him to let go of her. As if reading her mind, he pulled her closer. ‘But, before I go, I believe you promised me a kiss.’