pursed his lips. “Not bitter as in surly or unpleasant. Nothing like that. He has great charm when he cares to use it. But the marriage break-up took away a certain lightness of spirit. The capacity for easy laughs.”
“Made him more wary of women I expect?”
“Beautiful women.” James looked full at her, captivated as ever by the lovely classical features, the bright colouring, most of all the close resemblance to his much-loved sister, Caroline.
That same lovely face now fell. “You mean he’s looking for someone very plain?” The idea was unsettling.
“I think pleasant would be his choice.” James glanced off.
“Then pleasant I’ll be,” said Carrie, all of a sudden sure life on an Outback cattle station would solve her problem.
She was holding the fort for Debra, Halliday, Scholes & Associates’ receptionist when he came through the door, confounding her. The blood drummed in her ears. The world tilted again.
“Why, hello there.” He spoke very smoothly as she looked up. “This is just so unexpected.”
Somehow mercifully the moment passed. She was able to breathe again. “It is…odd,” Carrie agreed, aware those brilliant black eyes were filled with amusement and mockery. “May I help you?” She was rather proud of the calm detachment of her voice.
“It’s your boss I’m after. James Halliday.”
“You have an appointment?” It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.
“Of course I have an appointment.” He gave a brief laugh. “You must be new. Royce McQuillan.”
She was struck by dread. There goes the job. The bolthole. “Of course, Mr. McQuillan.” She stared back at him. “The receptionist will be back in a moment but I’ll ring through for you.”
“No matter!” He dismissed that with a slight impatient gesture of his hand. “I’ll go along. Mr. Halliday is expecting me.”
“Then allow me to take you,” Carrie offered, coming around the reception desk as Debra approached from the opposite direction, increasing her pace as she recognised the client.
“Good morning, Mr. McQuillan,” she carolled, packing a lot of feeling into her voice. “Or is it afternoon?”
“In a few minutes.” He glanced down at his watch. “How are you, Debra?”
“I’m well. And you?” The receptionist came to a halt, staring up into his face, obviously thrilled he had taken the time to say a few words to her.
“Fine.” There was a brief glimpse of his devastating smile. Very white against the dark tan. “Busy as usual. This young lady here,” he turned to Carrie now standing at his shoulder, “is going to escort me to Mr. Halliday’s office.”
“That’s nice of you, Carrie,” Debra said, her colour warm, eyes bright. “Carrie is…”
“In the office for the day.” Carrie cut the other girl off smoothly. She didn’t want her relationship to James explained quite yet.
Debra smiled touching a hand to her soft bubbly curls. “Nice to see you, Mr. McQuillan. I won’t be here when you get back. I’ll be going off for lunch.”
“Joining the madding crowd?” He gave her a little salute.
“What part do you play in the scheme of things?” he asked Carrie as they moved off. “I recognise you from somewhere and I don’t mean our previous encounter.”
“I’m not famous,” she said. It came off her tongue rather acidly.
“Is that what’s tearing you apart?” He glanced down at her from his arrogant height.
“You’re wrong. Believe me.” Carrie kept on walking, slightly intimidated by his long stride.
“I don’t think so.”
Little flames glowed in the pupils of her eyes and she tilted her head. “You must spend your time trying to psychoanalyse people?”
“I haven’t actually met anyone who acted quite like you,” he returned blandly.
“I’m sure—absolutely sure—I don’t understand you.” She raised her delicate arched brows.
“Then I’ll explain. In simple terms, you’re hostile.”
“You could very easily arouse those feelings in anybody.” It slipped off her tongue before she could consider.
“For all I know you could be frightened of me?”
“Nonsense.”
“Street terrorism?” the dark voice mocked.
“Have your bit of fun.”
“Are you a lady lawyer?” He gave her his all-encompassing sidelong glance. “You don’t look old enough, yet I’d say you’re a match for most people.”
“I’m not a lawyer.” She turned to him sweetly. “I don’t work for this firm.”
“But you’re somehow connected to James? I’ve finally figured it out.” He paused so she was forced to pause, too. “I know he doesn’t have a daughter. Come to think if it,” he laughed suddenly as full comprehension set in. “There’s quite a resemblance. You must be the niece. The brilliant young pianist?”
Except now I’ve been whittled down to size. “You are a detective,” she said lightly. “Poirot on his best day.”
“Why so snappy?” The striking face tautened as he stared down at her. “You have a wonderful future ahead of you, I understand?”
“An unfortunate part of my nature.” They had turned into the top hallway, and now James Halliday himself emerged from his suite, anxious to greet such a valuable client personally.
“Royce,” he cried with genuine pleasure, moving forward, hand outstretched. “Good to see you.”
The two men shook hands.
“I see you’ve already met my niece?” James’ smile widened to include the two of them.
“We haven’t gotten around to formal introductions yet,” Royce McQuillan drawled.
“Please allow me.” Suddenly conscious of a certain tingle in the air, James performed the introductions, while Carrie, ashamed of the way she’d been acting and doing her utmost to avoid being overwhelmed, gave him her hand.
“Catrina, may I?” he asked.
“Everyone calls her Carrie.” James smiled, extending an arm to usher them through the door.
She didn’t have a clue what she was doing. She had never felt remotely like this around anyone else. The shooting sparks of electricity didn’t stop even after he’d released her hand. She couldn’t look at him. It was the dynamic aura, she consoled herself. Even James felt it and James was the complete man of the world.
A little later by the time they were inside James’ office, she found her voice. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. McQuillan, but I should be on my way.”
James’ eyes found hers in perplexity. Something drastic must have happened to alter Carrie’s plan. “But I thought, kitten…”
Carrie felt McQuillan’s amusement. Kitten? How long since Jamie had called her kitten? Now twice in the one day. She turned to face Royce McQuillan square-on. “Goodbye.”
She didn’t offer the hand again but lifted a thick silky section of her hair from her collar as she spoke, tossing her head slightly to redistribute the mass.
An extraordinary alluring gesture, he thought. Kitten? She certainly had the colouring of a beautiful marmalade but this young woman had sharp claws. He noticed,