Bad Influence

Waltzing around the crowded dance-floor, she was barely aware of the music or of the glittering gathering enjoying themselves with an increasing degree of boisterousness beneath the sparkling chandeliers high above their heads, pastel-coloured balloons drifting around their feet, curling lengths of streamer decorating their hair and shoulders.

As the dance came to an end she was surrounded at once by a throng of admirers, clamouring for the chance of being next to lead her round the floor.

‘My turn, Georgie.’

‘Georgie, you promised me.’

‘Pardon the intrusion from the far-flung Colonies, boys, but I think this is my dance.’

It was that lazy, mocking drawl she had tried so hard to forget. To Georgia’s disgust, not one of the other claimants to her hand seemed willing to challenge the newcomer; groaning in protest, they conceded defeat, standing aside to let him step in. He held out one imperious hand, and she could do nothing but put hers in it and let him draw her out onto the dance-floor and into his arms.

He danced well, for a man who looked as if he’d be more at home on horseback, herding half a million sheep across the outback, she reflected with a touch of asperity. And she couldn’t deny that the elegant cut of a formal dinner jacket suited him remarkably well. But the memory of the last time he had held her in his arms was swirling in her brain, and all her usual cool poise had deserted her, leaving her feeling as gauche as a schoolgirl.

His soft laughter mocked her. ‘Well, good evening, Blondie. This is a pleasant surprise.’

She lifted her eyes to stare up at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded raggedly.

‘I bribed my way in,’ he admitted without shame. ‘I’m staying here at the hotel, and I was passing across the hall when I happened to look in—and who should I see but my little mermaid? So I collared one of those fearsome old dragons who always seem to run these things, and gave her a nice fat cheque to let me in. I was hoping I might run into you while I was in London, but I certainly didn’t expect it to be here.’ His voice took on a note of sardonic amusement. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you…with your clothes on.’

She returned him a look of cool dignity which she hoped would override the betraying hint of pink in her cheeks. ‘If you’re going to make coarse remarks like that, I shall walk off the dance-floor.’

He chuckled with laughter, the arm around her waist tightening just a fraction, as if to warn her not to try it. ‘I see you got your diamonds,’ he remarked, a hard edge in his voice. ‘Quite a set—the real thing too. You have been busy since the last time we met. Found yourself some rich fool to marry, did you? Who is it? That pasty-faced creep you were dancing with when I came in?’

‘Robin isn’t a creep!’ she protested hotly.

‘He isn’t man enough for you.’ He had drawn her closer, his warm breath stirring her hair, his hand sliding slowly down the length of her spine to mould intimately over the smooth curve of her derrière. ‘Don’t you sometimes wish, when you feel his scrawny hands on your smooth, satin skin, for a real lover?’ he taunted provocatively. ‘One whose touch would be warm and gentle on your soft, naked body—who would caress those ripe, firm, beautiful breasts with tenderness and who would make love to you all night, in every way you could possibly imagine…?’

Georgia drew in a sharp breath, shocked not so much by his words as by her own reaction to them; breathing the musky, male scent of him was conjuring a memory of that brief encounter on his yacht, a memory so vivid that she felt as if she was once again naked in his arms, her mouth bruised by his kisses, her creamy smooth skin flushed beneath that insolent dark gaze.

It took a considerable effort of will to regather the scattered threads of her composure. But she couldn’t let herself weaken—she knew only too well how swiftly he could take advantage of any lowering of her resistance. From beneath her lashes, she studied him warily. It seemed that he still didn’t know who she was. It was possible, of course—he had been here no more than a few minutes, and he might not have bothered to ask anyone her name.

Or, on the other hand, he could be playing some kind of cruel game with her. If he was the mysterious figure behind the holding company that was buying up Geldard shares, she was quite sure he would try to use their previous meeting to gain an unfair advantage—there was no mistaking the hint of ruthlessness about that hard mouth.

Either way, she had to keep her nerve, keep planning her moves. And, for the moment, it seemed that the best tactic was to play the confident, sexually assured siren he had taken her for. It was hardly a role that came naturally to her, but all she had to do was copy Margot’s style—it couldn’t be that difficult.

Slanting him a flirtatious smile, she lifted her eyes to his. ‘I…didn’t know you were planning to come to England,’ she remarked carefully. ‘You didn’t mention it.’

Only the slightest flicker of those dark eyes registered his surprise at her change of manner. ‘Well, now, as I recall we didn’t get too much time to talk about anything before you disappeared from my life,’ he responded on a note of mocking humour. ‘But since the only thing I knew about you was that you were English—at least I figured that from your accent—it seemed like the best way to find you was to come to London.’

Heavens, he must think she was stupid! She laughed lightly, hiding her annoyance behind a gloss of sophisticated amusement. ‘Really? You didn’t exactly rush, though—it’s been nearly three months.’

‘Ah, well…Unfortunately there were one or two business matters that forced me to go back to Australia first,’ he explained. ‘But I came as soon as I could.’

She shook her head, mimicking Margot’s best arch mannerisms. ‘No, really—what are you doing here?’ she persisted. ‘Do you have business interests in England?’

‘A few,’ he conceded, those enigmatic dark eyes giving nothing away. ‘I’m just looking around for anything that catches my eye. I’ve already picked up a nice little filly—as a matter of fact I named her Blondie, after you.’

Georgia’s jaw was aching with the effort of maintaining her smile. ‘So I saw in the paper. Am I supposed to be flattered?’

‘I like the name,’ he countered genially. ‘And I don’t know your real one.’

She laughed the implied question aside. ‘And where’s your other “filly” tonight?’ she enquired, trying for an air of worldly unconcern. ‘Not with you?’

‘You mean Sheena? No, she’s working—Paris or Rome or somewhere. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, just…mildly curious,’ she responded, not quite able to keep her voice as even as she would have liked.

‘Not jealous, by any chance, are you?’ he taunted.

‘Jealous? Of course not.’ She shrugged her slim shoulders in a gesture of unconcern. ‘I have no reason to be jealous.’

‘No, you don’t,’ he murmured, drawing her closer again. ‘She’s almost as beautiful as you, but she doesn’t kiss like you. You tasted like honey and melted in my arms like a dream…’

‘I was…half-drowned,’ she choked out, her mask abruptly slipping.

‘So you were,’ he conceded softly, mockingly. ‘But you’re not half-drowned now.’

With a small stab of alarm she realised that he had waltzed her out through the open French windows at the far end of the dance-floor into a cool marble atrium, where a green cast-iron fountain played amid a riot of tropical palms beneath a high glass-domed ceiling. Before she could protest, he had drawn her back into the shadows behind one of the Doric columns that ran around the outer rim, and his mouth had claimed hers in a kiss that she didn’t know how to resist.

His lips moved over hers, warm and sensuous, and with a soft sigh she surrendered to their sweet persuasion, granting him admission to the moist, secret depths he sought. The musky male scent of his skin was drugging her mind, stirring an instinctive response that was far beyond the reach of reason.

She was curving herself into his demanding embrace, her tender breasts crushed against the hard wall of his chest, her spine melting in the heat that was swirling in her blood. His sensuous tongue coiled around hers as his hands moulded intimately over the soft curves of her body with that warm, tender touch he had promised…

‘Why did you disappear like that?’ he breathed, the husky timbre of his voice caressing her. ‘I thought I’d never see you again. If it hadn’t been for one very damp blanket on the floor by the open window I might have thought you were a figment of my dreams. And now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to let you go—I want to make love to you…’

Abruptly his words brought her back to reality. What in hell was she doing, letting him kiss her again when she knew that he was a threat to everything she had worked for—everything her grandfather had worked for? Summoning all her strength, she forced her hands between them, struggling to push him away.

‘Damn that bloodless creep and his diamonds,’ he cursed, misunderstanding her reaction. ‘I can buy you diamonds—all the diamonds you want. Come upstairs to my suite and let me remind you what it’s like to be touched by hands that still have some warmth in them…’

‘Stop it—let me go…’ she begged, her voice rising in panic. ‘Leave me alone…’

‘It’s all right, Miss Geldard, we’ve got him!’

As Georgia blinked in bewilderment a sixteen-stone gorilla in a white dinner jacket caught Jake from behind in a massive bear-hug, dragging him off her as another swung a punch at his head. With the instincts of a street-fighter he ducked, the blow hitting the first gorilla square on the jaw as Jake barged the second in a low rugby tackle, bringing him down in a sprawling heap—and the world erupted in a mêlée of flying fists and the exploding flashbulbs of Press cameras.

‘Stop it! You’ve made a mistake!’ she cried, wishing she could vanish through the floor as the atrium filled with curious guests, coming out to stare.

Slowly the struggling mass on the floor resolved itself into three bruised and bloodied men, who drew cautiously apart and rose to their feet, eyeing each other with considerable hostility and suspicion. Jake shook his head, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab gingerly at a trickle of blood on his lip.

‘Would somebody mind telling me what in hell’s going on?’ he demanded, looking from his assailants to Georgia and back again.

She drew in a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m…sorry,’ she managed, conscious of the flaming heat in her cheeks. ‘These men are from the security firm responsible for protecting my diamonds.’

‘We thought you was trying to pinch ‘em,’ the first gorilla supplied. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Geldard—we was watching you dancing and everything looked kosher. Then the next minute you was missing, and when we got out here it looked like you was…having a bit of bother. I…suppose we jumped to the wrong conclusion,’ he added sheepishly. ‘No hard feelings, mate?’ he added to Jake. ‘We was just doing our job.’

Jake grinned, accepting the massive hand that was being held out to him. ‘No hard feelings,’ he conceded, the glint of amusement in his half-closed eye suggesting to Georgia that he had quite enjoyed the scrap.

‘You put up a damned good show,’ the other gorilla admitted with wry admiration. ‘If you’re ever looking for a job, we could use you on the firm.’

‘Thank you,’ Jake responded, shaking his hand solemnly. ‘I hope I won’t ever need to be, but if I am I’ll remember that.’

The flashbulbs exploded again, to catch the moment. ‘Miss Geldard, what are the diamonds worth?’ one of the photographers called out, delighted with this unexpected bonus on an evening when they had anticipated nothing more than deadly dull society snaps.

With a swift step, Jake interposed himself between her and the cameras. ‘I think you have enough pictures,’ he asserted grimly. ‘Miss Geldard is tired.’

There was a murmur of protest, but no one seemed inclined to argue with him. With some reluctance, the crowd and the photographers drifted slowly back to the ballroom. The security guards were the last to go, leaving them alone.

Georgia lifted her hand to her hair, trying in vain to tuck back the strands that were slipping from the elegant arrangement her hairdresser had created. Nervously she flicked a glance up at Jake, who was leaning one wide shoulder against the stone pillar beside them, easing his grazed knuckles.

‘Well, Miss Geldard,’ he remarked, adding a sardonic emphasis to her name. ‘I suppose you could say that we’ve now been formally introduced—in a manner of speaking.’

She lowered her lashes, her cheeks flushing faintly pink. ‘Yes, well…I’m very sorry for the…misunderstanding…’

He shouted with laughter. ‘Well, that’s an understatement! There was I, thinking you’d found yourself a nice wealthy sugar-daddy, and what do you know? Turns out you’re a little Croesus in your own right!’ He lifted the heavy diamond collar around her throat on one finger, regarding it with the expert eye of one who knew his gemstones. ‘Very nice too—and worth a cool half a million, at least. No wonder you need bodyguards.’

‘Quite.’ With an effort of will, she lifted her eyes to meet his, all her icy dignity restored. ‘However, although there’s no “bloodless creep” on the scene, I’m afraid I must regretfully decline your charming invitation to go upstairs to your suite. I have no taste for casual one-night stands.’

He laughed without humour. ‘That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.’

‘Oh? And what did you have in mind?’

He regarded her for a moment in quizzical assessment, and then he shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think this is quite the right moment to explain,’ he responded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’

She hesitated, drawing in a long, steadying breath. ‘I don’t think this is quite the right moment to explain,’ she countered crisply. ‘I’m sorry about the misunderstanding with the security people—I hope your injuries aren’t serious?’

‘I’ll live,’ he returned, an inflection of sardonic humour in his voice as he cautiously felt his swollen eye. ‘Ow! Those guys can sure pack a wallop!’

‘I’ll ask the kitchen to send you up a raw steak.’

‘You could try kissing it better…’ he taunted, leaning his hands against the wall on each side of her shoulders to trap her between his arms.

Her blue eyes flashed him a frost warning, and she ducked neatly under his arm. ‘I’ll ask the kitchen to send you up a raw steak,’ she reiterated dampeningly as she turned him an aloof shoulder and walked back to the ballroom.

He chuckled with wry amusement. ‘You know, you should always wear diamonds,’ he remarked in lazy mockery. ‘They go with your eyes.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘DECENT shiner you’ve got there, old man.’

lake squinted out of his good eye, smiling wryly as the pale young man, whom he recognised as the one he had mistaken for Georgia’s rich sugar-daddy, came over to join him, leaning against the bonnet of the Range Rover. ‘You should see the other guy.’

Robin Rustrom-Smith chuckled. ‘I had a ringside seat It’s all over the papers, you know. Our Sweet Georgia is not going to be best pleased with you—doesn’t like that sort of publicity.’

Jake shrugged his wide shoulders in a dismissive gesture, holding his binoculars gingerly to his eyes to watch the string of horses galloping across the soft Lambourn turf. ‘How was I supposed to know who she was? She never told me her name.’

‘Ah, so that’s why you were so reckless. You got off lightly, you know—the last chap who tried it on with her still bears the scars.’

‘You don’t say,’ Jake drawled with laconic humour.

‘No, I’m serious. Took her horsewhip to him—lovely aim, straight across the cheek. Ten years ago, that was—no one else has dared risk it once.’

Jake lowered his binoculars, turning to stare at his genial informant in frank astonishment. ‘You mean…no one?’ he queried. ‘No one’s even…? But she’d have been…what, sixteen?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Jake laughed. ‘You’re kidding me. A good-looking broad like that? She must have ‘em queuing in the aisles!’

Robin shook his head. ‘If there’d been any action, I’d have known about it—m’sister Margot’s one of her best friends, and you know what women are for talking about that sort of thing. Oh, I agree she’s a great girl, but when it comes to trying it on with her…To tell you the truth, even the thought of it scares me into the middle of next week—and I’ve known her since we were children.’

‘So you mean she’s still…?’

Robin nodded in cheerful confirmation. ‘Of course, it was the Old Man’s fault—her grandfather. The tight-fisted old goat was always convinced that anyone who looked twice at her was after his money, so he all but locked her up in a chastity belt and threw away the key. Siberia, we used to call her at school—couldn’t warm her up with a blowtorch.’

‘Well, well…’ Jake lifted his binoculars again. ‘Well, well, well…’ That was certainly no longer true—as he had every reason to know. Or was that the sort of game she played? He had met the kind before, promising everything and then refusing to deliver until they had got whatever it was they wanted—usually a ring on their finger and a mealticket for life.

Not that the frostbitten Miss Geldard had any need of a meal ticket—she could afford to buy not only her own lunch, but the whole damned restaurant if she chose. Nor did she need to resort to those sort of tactics to get herself a husband, if that was what she wanted—with one snap of her fingers she could have half the available men this side of the Rockies queuing up for her hand.

So what was it? Some kind of power trip? Was that what turned her on? Didn’t she have enough power as chief executive of her family firm? But then he had met a lot of men to whom power was like a drug—the more of it they had, the more they needed. Why shouldn’t some women be like that? And in her position she must have to fight her way in a man’s world every day of her working life—what better way to even the score than by hitting back below the belt, as it were…?

Damn, he never had been able to resist a challenge—especially one with such a prize at the end of it! The thought of teaching Miss Geldard the danger of playing power games with the big boys, and at the same time disproving his new acquaintance’s blowtorch theory, was tempting enough to make his mouth water. Ice would never have melted more sweetly into honey…!

A third off-roader pulled up in the field, the driver climbing out and strolling over to join them, calling a casual greeting. Jake vaguely recalled having met him before—and not liking him much. He had wondered then what had caused the faint white scar down his right cheek.

‘Nice looking filly you’ve got there,’ the newcomer remarked, studying the horses in training through his own binoculars. ‘I was after her myself.’

‘Were you?’ Jake smiled grimly, the amusing irony of the remark not lost on him.

Robin chuckled softly to himself. ‘You’d best be careful, Nige,’ he put in, with the air of one feeding fuel to a fire. ‘Looks like he’s making a habit of picking up fillies you were interested in.’

The Honourable Nigel Woodvine cast his old schoolfriend a withering look down his aristocratic nose.

‘I’ve just been telling him about our Georgie,’ Robin supplied. ‘He doesn’t seem to believe me.’

Nigel turned his cool survey on Jake, letting his lip curl into a slight sneer. ‘Is that so?’ he queried, carefully calculating a degree of disdain that would fall just short of provoking any serious danger from those hard fists—he too had been present at the Geldard Foundation May Day Ball. ‘You think you can do better than the rest of us, then?’

Jake shrugged, returning the contempt. ‘Could be.’

Nigel laughed unpleasantly. ‘I doubt it. From what I gather, you’ve barely made it to first base. Granted, that’s a little further than most people have got to with the damned frigid bitch—but you won’t get her into bed.’

Jake examined his grazed hand, flexing the fingers contemplatively, wondering how the knuckles would stand up to another close encounter with hard bone. ‘You don’t reckon?’ he mused, deceptively quiet.

Nigel lifted his binoculars, coolly watching the string of horses as they turned for home. ‘No, I don’t,’ he confirmed. ‘You putting that filly in for the Geldard Cup at Ascot in September?’

‘I expect so.’

‘I’ll tell you what—I’ll make a bet with you. My bay—the one leading the string there—against your filly says you can’t get her into bed before the race.’ He lowered his binoculars, his narrow eyes glinting. ‘What do you say?’

Robin drew in a sharp breath. ‘Hey, Nige…!’ he protested, appalled. ‘I mean, come on! You can’t make a bet like that!’

‘Can’t I?’ Again he gave that unpleasant laugh. ‘Maybe our Australian friend doesn’t think he can take up the challenge?’

Jake held his anger carefully in check; sometimes there were better ways of dealing with contemptible jerks like this over-bred Englishman than using your fists. Was he really considering accepting such a dumb bet? He’d never done anything like it in his life—even in his crass adoles- cence he wouldn’t have dreamed of it. But maybe the stiffnecked Miss Geldard had it coming to her.

He lifted his own binoculars again, studying the elegant bay at the head of the string. ‘A bit showy for my taste, but I wouldn’t mind having her,’ he drawled with mocking self-assurance. ‘You’re on.’

‘Another red rose, Georgia.’

‘Thank you, Janet. Throw it in the bin like the others, please.’

‘Oh, but…It seems such a shame!’ her secretary protested. ‘He called three times yesterday, too.’

‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a man who won’t take no for an answer,’ Georgia responded on a note of crisp dismissal. ‘I’m leaving for my lunch appointment now, Janet. And if Mr Morgan rings again, the answer is still the same—no, I will not have lunch with him, nor dinner with him, nor will I go to the theatre or anywhere else with him.’

‘Yes, Georgia,’ Janet conceded with a wistful little sigh. Normally briskly efficient, there was a small, romantic corner in her soul that was highly susceptible to the roughhewn charm of the big Australian who had been pursuing her hard-hearted boss with such determination for the past couple of weeks.

Georgia smiled grimly, and swung her handbag onto her shoulder. ‘I have a meeting with Bernard at two-thirty, so I’ll be back by two-fifteen. And I’ll need the production figures for the Redford Road bakery by tonight—I have to write a briefing paper for next week’s board meeting.’

Her secretary nodded, making a note. ‘Do you want the figures for the past three years?’

‘Better make it the past five. See you later, Janet.’ She swept from the office, studiously ignoring the single, per- feet red rose in its cellophane wrapper lying on Janet’s desk. She had more than enough to worry about, without Jake Morgan pestering her. The mysterious Falcon Holdings was steadily buying up more of her shares; they had almost fifteen percent now—another fifteen and they would have to announce a formal bid. She had already decided to start discreetly liquidating some of her assets, ready to fight it.

And now, just when she didn’t need it, she had been informed that one of the companies that owned a small but potentially important block of Geldard’s shares had itself been taken over. Apparently it had been a friendly takeover, providing a rescue package that would save them from the hands of the receivers—which was fortunate for them. But it left her with a worrying question mark—would the new owners support her or not?

The executive lift took her down smoothly and swiftly to the basement, where her chauffeur was waiting with her ice-blue Rolls Royce to transport her to the restaurant where she was meeting a representative from the new owners of Linepaq to discuss their continuing association with Geldard’s.