For a person being offered what appeared to be a reprieve, she was bloody ungrateful! Sam felt an overpowering need to crush that indomitable spirit beneath his lips, and then to fill her so utterly that she would never again feel satisfied in the arms of another man. That would be both his revenge and gift to her….
‘No, by spending a couple of days with me.’
Fran’s heart clenched. ‘Doing what?’
‘What you do best. I want you to organise a small party for me.’
‘You are kidding?’
‘No, I’m not. I have no complaints about your organizational skills, Fran. Quite the opposite, in fact. The proceeds from the ball exceeded all expectations—the hospital went crazy with thanks. Several jaded socialites told me it was the very best party they had been to in ages—praise indeed. Particularly for the floor show.’ His gaze was steady. Steady enough to notice that a pulse was flickering hectically at the base of her throat. And he wondered if that meant what it usually meant…. ‘You’re very good at what you do, Fran.’
She screwed her eyes up at him suspiciously. ‘But won’t people think it very strange for me to be working for you after all the adverse publicity? Won’t they wonder why you’re even giving me house-room?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘People will see us working….’ he chose the next word with great care. He wanted to say ‘intimately,’ but that might frighten her off. ‘Closely together, and they will dismiss all the stories as rubbish.’
‘And what if I say no?’
‘Then I coul
d make life very difficult for you.’
He said it almost pleasantly, Fran thought—and that made the simple statement all the more unsettling. She didn’t doubt that he could make big trouble for her if he wanted to. And right now he looked powerful enough for anything…. ‘What kind of party?’
His eyes betrayed no triumph—no emotion whatsoever. ‘My mother will be travelling up from Cornwall, with my sisters. It’s her birthday and I’d like to host a surprise dinner for her. Nothing big. Or fancy.’
‘Your mother?’
‘Well, I do have one. Don’t you?’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘It was the existence of my father which Rosie brought into question in that appalling newspaper article, and I’m afraid that once again, she got it wrong. He is dead—but he was very happily married to my mother for many years.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Sorry if that doesn’t fit the stereotype either!’
‘I wasn’t the one who called you a bastard!’ Fran protested.
‘No, but you thought it, didn’t you?’
She looked at him steadily. ‘Are we going to spend the whole time raking up the fact that you think you’ve been misjudged by me, Sam?’
‘No, I guess you’re right. There’s no point.’ He controlled his temper with an almighty effort. ‘My mother is going to be seventy. And I want to make sure she has a wonderful birthday. You can do that for me, can’t you, Fran?’
‘Well, I can,’ she told him. ‘But if she’s seen the newspaper reports, then she may not be very happy about having me anywhere within a ten-mile radius!’
‘My mother is an unusual woman. And never predictable,’ he said, a trace of wry humour lightening his eyes. ‘According to the sister who sent her Rosie’s article, she burst out laughing when she read the piece and said that she never thought she’d see the day when I’d eat humble pie.’
‘I can imagine.’
He ran the flat of his hand down over one hard, denimed thigh and Fran followed the movement with an unstoppable fascination.
‘And that’s where you come in, honey. Your presence will prove to her that you were mistaken about me. And that as far as I’m concerned—humble pie is a dish that’s never been on the menu.’
CHAPTER SIX
SAM scowled as he waited for the connection to be made. It was hard enough trying to get hold of Cormack in normal circumstances, and these were definitely not normal circumstances.
Cormack hated telephones with a passion, often furtively disconnecting them and not bothering to inform anyone that he had done so. Like Triss, his wife. Or Sam, his agent.
Sam yawned. It was wonderful representing one of cinematography’s most talented scriptwriters—just that he wished that Cormack would occasionally live his life by the same rules as other, lesser mortals. But the fact that Triss was newly pregnant with their second baby made the volatile Irishman even more erratic.
There was a click. ‘Hello?’ came a wary American accent and Sam almost burst out laughing. Until he remembered why he was ringing Cormack in the first place.
‘Stop trying to disguise your voice, Cormack!’