"Thank God you're back!" Mary burst out late Wednesday afternoon when Nick strode swiftly into his office, followed by Ericka and Jim. "Mike Walsh needs to talk to you immediately. He says it's an emergency."
"Have him come up," Nick said, shrugging out of his suit jacket. "And then come and join us in a toast. I'm about to whisk Lauren off to Las Vegas to get married. The plane is being refueled and checked out right now."
"Does Lauren know about this?" Mary said, frowning. "She's downstairs in Jim's office, hard at work."
"I'll convince her of the wisdom of the plan."
"When the plane is airborne and she has no choice," Ericka put in with a knowing smile.
"Exactly." Nick grinned in high good spirits. He had missed her so much that he'd called her three times a day, every day, like a lovesick schoolboy. "Make yourselves comfortable," he added over his shoulder. Reaching into a wide closet that held several changes of clothing, he took out a fresh shirt.
Five minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom, freshly shaven, and glanced at Mike Walsh and the round-faced man who were standing near the couch where Jim and Ericka were seated. "What's up, Mike?" he asked, going over to the bar and removing a bottle of champagne, his back to the others.
"There's a security leak in the Rossi project," the attorney began cautiously.
"Right. I told you that."
"The men in Casano trying to find out about Rossi were Whitworth's men."
Only a momentary stillness in Nick's hand as he unwound the wire from the plastic champagne cork betrayed his tension at the mention of Whitworth's name. "Go on," he urged evenly.
"Evidently," the attorney continued, "there's a woman on our payroll who appears to have been spying for Whitworth. I arranged for Rudy here to listen in on the extension of her office telephone and to keep her under surveillance."
Nick took down four champagne glasses from the bar, his mind dwelling on Lauren's smile, her beautiful face. Tonight was going to be their wedding night. After tonight he and he alone would have the right to take her in his arms, to join his starved body with hers, to kiss and caress her… "I'm listening," he lied. "Go on."
"Yesterday she was photographed passing him copies of four of Sinco's bids. We have in our possession a set of the copies she passed to Whitworth to use as proof in court."
"That son of a—" Nick fought down his blaze of fury, trying not to let his animosity for Philip Whitworth spoil his mood. This was his wedding day. Coolly he said, "Jim, I'm going to do what I should have done five years ago. I'm going to put him out of business. From now on, I want Sinco to bid on every job he bids on, and I want you to bid below our cost. Is that clear? I want that bastard out of our hair!"
When Jim murmured agreement, Mike continued. "We can swear out a warrant for the young woman's arrest. I've already discussed the matter with Judge Spath, and he is ready to do so as soon as you give the word."
"Who is she?" Jim demanded when Nick seemed more interested in pouring champagne into his glasses.
"Whitworth's mistress!" Rudy burst out eagerly, his voice ringing with pompous self-importance. "I checked her out personally. The dame is living like a queen in a fancy Bloomfield Hills condo that Whitworth's paying for. She dresses like a model, and…"
Dread exploded in Nick's chest, and his whole body tensed against the agonizing certainty already pounding in his brain. His mind formed the question, but before he could force the words out, he had to brace his hands on the bar for support. With his back still to them, he whispered, "Who is she?"
"Lauren Danner," the attorney said, cutting off a further descriptive outpouring from the eager security man. "Nick, I know she's been working for you personally and that she's the girl who practically fell at our feet that night. The publicity involved in her arrest will definitely help discourage anyone else who might consider spying on us, but I waited to talk to you before we pressed charges against her. Shall I—"
Nick's voice was strangled with fury and pain. "Go back to your office," he ordered, "and wait there. I'll call you." Without turning, he jerked his head in Rudy's direction. "Get him out of my sight, and keep him out—permanently!"
"Nick—" Jim spoke to Nick's back.
"Get out!" Nick's voice lashed like a whip crack, then became dangerously controlled. "Mary, call Lauren and have her come up here in ten minutes. Then you go home. It's nearly five."
In the tomblike silence that followed their departure, Nick straightened from the bar and tossed down the champagne he had poured to celebrate his marriage to an angel. A princess with laughing blue eyes who had walked into his life and turned it upside down. Lauren was spying on him, betraying him to Whitworth. Lauren was Whitworth's mistress.
His heart shouted a denial, but his mind knew it was true. It explained the way she lived, the clothes she wore.
He recalled introducing her to Whitworth on Saturday night, and as he remembered the way she'd pretended not to know him, he felt as if he was shattering into a million pieces. Fury and anguish poured through his veins like acid. He wanted to crush her in his arms and make her say it wasn't true; he wanted to pour his love into her until there was no room for anyone in her heart or her body but him.
He wanted to strangle her for her treachery, to murder her with his own hands.
He wanted to die.
Lauren glanced at the three security guards who were standing in Nick's private reception area as she hurried toward his office. They watched her, their expressions strangely alert, wary. She smiled slightly as she passed them, but only one of them responded—he nodded, a curt unfriendly inclination of his head.
At Nick's office door she paused to smooth her hair. Her hand trembled with a mixture of delight at seeing him again and fear over how he was going to react when she told him of her involvement with Philip. She had intended to tell him tonight, after he'd had time to relax, but now that Philip was blackmailing her she had to tell him right away. "Welcome back," she said, walking into his suite.
Nick was standing at the window with his back to her, one hand braced high against the frame, staring out across the city. The drapes were drawn over the remainder of the glass wall, and none of the lights had been turned on to dispel the gloom of a prematurely dark and rainy night.
"Close the door," he said softly. His voice sounded strange, but his back was toward her as she walked to him and she couldn't see his face.
"Did you miss me, Lauren?" he asked, still without turning.
Lauren smiled at the question he always asked her when he had been away from her. "Yes," she admitted, boldly sliding her arms around his waist from behind. His body seemed to tense at her touch, and when she rubbed her cheek against his broad, muscular back, it felt as hard as iron.
"How much did you miss me?" he whispered silkily.
"Turn around and I'll show you," she teased.
His hand came down from the window, and he turned. Without looking at her he walked over to the sofas and sat down. "Come over here," he invited smoothly.
Lauren obediently went over to the sofa and stood looking down into his handsome, shadowed face, trying to read his strange mood. His expression was impassive, almost aloof, but when she started to sit beside him, he caught her wrist and pulled her onto his lap.
"Show me how much you want me," he urged.
There was an odd note in his voice that sent unexplainable alarm dancing down Lauren's spine, but it was promptly squelched by the commanding insisten
ce of his mouth on hers. He kissed her thoroughly, expertly, and Lauren helplessly surrendered to the torrid demands of his lips. He had missed her. His fingers were already unfastening her silk blouse, pulling her bra down to expose her breasts as he lowered her onto the sofa and covered her half-naked body with his. His mouth skillfully aroused her swelling breasts and hardened nipples, while his hand insinuated itself beneath her skirt and pulled down the lace band of her underpants. "Do you want me now?"
"Yes," Lauren gasped, writhing beneath him.
His free hand shoved into the hair at her scalp and tightened. "Then open your eyes, honey," he ordered softly. "I want to be sure you know it's me who's on top of you and not Whitworth."
"Nick… !" Lauren's frantic scream was strangled as Nick lunged to his feet, twisted his hand in her hair and cruelly jerked her up with him.
"Listen to me. Please!" Lauren cried out, terrified by the black rage, the virulent hatred blazing in his eyes. "I can explain everything, I—" A low scream tore from her throat as he tightened his grip in her hair, wrenching her head around and down.
"Explain that," he ordered in a terrifying whisper.
Lauren's gaze froze in terror on the papers scattered across the coffee table: copies of the four bids she had given Philip; enlarged black-and-white photographs showing her leaning into his car; the license plate on the back of his Cadillac, and the State of Michigan registration showing Philip A. Whitworth as the owner of the vehicle. "Please, I love you! I—"
"Lauren," he interrupted in a menacingly soft voice. "Will you still love me five years from now when you and your lover get out of prison?"
"Oh Nick, please listen to me," she implored brokenly. "Philip isn't my lover, he's a relative. He sent me to Sinco to apply for a job, but I swear I've never told him anything." The rage drained from Nick's face, replaced by a terrible contempt that alarmed Lauren so much her words tumbled out in a disjointed frenzy. "Until… until he saw us at the dance, he let me alone, but now he's trying to blackmail me. He threatened to tell you lies if I didn't—"