Web Of Darkness

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Epigraph

Dear Reader

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Copyright

Dear Reader,

Well, Harlequin Presents® is twenty-five years young, and just as stirringly emotive, provocative and exciting as ever. I’m thrilled to be part of the anniversary celebrations, and so hope you enjoy all the books we have for you.

I’ve been writing for Harlequin for eight years, and each book continues to be a joy. As I type away, I visit far-flung, exotic shores, drink wonderful wines under azure skies, meet new and fascinating people, and always—always—end up with the most gorgeous man. And they call it work!

So read and enjoy, with my love.

Helen Brooks

Web Of Darkness

Helen Brooks

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

J’OE? That man over there, the one that’s just come in with the blonde woman, who is he?’

‘Where?’ As Joe turned round to follow the line of her eyes, he took in the general entourage surrounding the tall, powerfully built man standing in the hotel foyer, and the slender young blonde hanging like a limpet on his arm, with a wry smile.

‘Oh, that’s Kane Steel, sweetheart. You know, the big property tycoon who owns half of London? He’s probably here for a Press conference. I wondered what all those reporters were doing hanging around. He’s just pulled off one of the biggest mergers ever and the tabloids are greedy for information. Anyway, can we concentrate on the business in hand?’

As Joe turned back to the advertising material spread over the low table where they were sitting having coffee, Janie continued staring through the thin layer of glass separating the coffee-lounge from the foyer. She had known it was him! She had only seen his photo once before when she had been sorting through some of her father’s papers the week after his death, but every feature of that cruel, hard face was burnt into her brain with the force of her hatred. And now he was here. In the flesh. And what was she going to do about it?

What indeed? She found she couldn’t take her eyes off the huge figure as he stepped into the lift, disappearing from sight as the doors closed swiftly behind him. She had made a vow to herself, standing in the pouring rain at her father’s funeral, that if she ever met the revered head of Steel Enterprises he would get what was coming to him. She just hadn’t anticipated the meeting occurring in one of London’s most exclusive hotels during a Press conference.

Still, what can I lose? she asked herself silently. Probably her job, the tiny flat that went with it and most of her friends, she answered mutely with cold humour. Joe Flanders was a boss in a million, but he wasn’t going to like this at all and no one, no one crossed the great machine of Steel Enterprises, let alone the main man. Except her? The thought put iron in her backbone and fire in her eyes. She’d never sleep again at night if she didn’t follow this through. She owed it to herself as well as the mild-tempered man who had given her life.

‘Janie?’ Joe’s touch on her arm brought her eyes snapping back to him and his face straightened at the expression on hers. ‘What is it? Do you feel ill?’

‘I’m sorry, Joe.’ She was already rising as she spoke. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. There’s something I have to do.’

‘We’re meeting the manager at five, in his office,’ Joe said anxiously as he glanced at his watch, ‘and I still want to discuss these photos in more detail. Hurry up, will you? The Ladies is to the right.’

‘OK.’ Once outside in the foyer, she walked straight past the powder-room and over to the large reception desk, keeping her face straight and businesslike.

‘Mr Steel?’ she asked carefully. ‘I understand he’s holding a Press conference and I’m afraid I’m a little late. Perhaps you could direct me…?’

‘Third floor,’ the girl behind the desk said in a bored tone. ‘The conference-room is to your right as you step out of the lift.’

‘Thanks.’ Janie’s heart was beginning to thud like a piston now, but she was in the lift and out at the third floor before the trembling in her legs really took hold. She heard the noise first and, as she quietly opened the door and slipped into the large, richly carpeted room, her eyes swung immediately to the little group seated at the far end behind a magnificent desk of varnished walnut which was positioned on a small raised platform.

‘Can you tell us how much the deal is worth, Mr Steel?’ one of the reporters crowding the room bellowed in her ear as Janie edged her way to the front amid a field of flashing cameras. His reply was lost on her as she reached the brief area of space before the platform. Anyone watching would have seen a rather small girl, a little inclined to plumpness, her dark hair and eyes probably her best features, with a small heart-shaped face that was averagely pretty, no more. What Kane Steel saw, as she moved to stand directly in front of him, was two blazing eyes in a dead-white face that were filled with such bitter enmity that they froze the practised reply he had been about to make and narrowed his blue eyes into cold slits.

‘Mr Steel? Mr Kane Steel?’ The words were piercingly clear and the silence that had gripped the little group on the platform spread in a rippling motion over the rest of the room as the hardened warriors of the Press sensed an unexpected bonus.

‘Yes?’ His eyes flashed over her face with devastating thoroughness. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know you, do I?’ Someone edged forward in the watching tableau as the room held its breath, all the jour-nalists craning their heads, notebooks ready.

‘Not exactly.’ The bitterness was so fierce that she found she was actually having a job to speak. ‘But I know you, Mr Steel. I have good reason to know you.’

‘Would you like to be more explicit?’ he asked icily as he rose and walked round the table, stepping down beside her on the carpet as he gestured for the others at the table to be still.

‘Yes, I would.’ She stared up at him furiously, her cheeks scarlet. ‘My name is Janie Gordon, Mr Steel. My father was Paul Gordon. Ring any bells?’

‘Bell-ringing is not my forte, Miss Gordon,’ he said coldly, ‘and I do not appreciate your version of What’s My Line? in the middle of a busy work schedule. If you have something to say to me then get on with it.’ The frosty eyes dared her to continue. ‘Otherwise get out.’

For a moment the sheer arrogance of the man took her breath away, and then the biting rage that had swamped her two years ago returned in all its deadly savagery.

‘You are a murderer, Mr Steel.’ The hiss of in-drawn breath that swept round the room was lost on her; she was blind and deaf to anything but the stone-hard face in front of her. ‘A cold-blooded, despicable brute. You hounded my father for the sake of a few thousand pounds, which must be a drop in the ocean to you, until he lost everything, including the will to live. What does it feel like to have a man’s death on your conscience, Mr Steel, or haven’t you even thought about it?’ The vivid spots of colour burning her cheekbones brought the deathly whiteness of the rest of her face into even more stark contrast and no one could doubt that she meant every word she said.

‘Miss Gordon, you are way out of line.’ There was a dangerous softness in the deep voice that spoke of furious anger. ‘I have never even heard of your father——’

‘Jessdon Labelling?’ She ought to be feeling intimidated, a tiny detached part of her brain thought vaguely, but, surprisingly, she felt nothing but pain, anger and relief—relief at being able to let it all out at long last. ‘He named the firm after my mother,’ she added tightly. ‘Jessica Gordon.’

She saw a tiny spark of awareness flare in the icy blue eyes and in the next instant her hand connected with his face with such force that his head shot back a couple of inches. As all hell broke loose behind her, the barrage of flash bulbs vying with the shouts and calls of the reporters, Janie plunged into the centre of the mêlée, forcing her way through with sheer physical force and reaching the lift outside the room just as the doors began to close. As they slid together she was aware of a tumult of bodies cascading into the corridor, the sound of raised voices fading as the lift took her swiftly downwards.

Once in the foyer, she walked rapidly out of the building, glancing neither left nor right, her eyes fixed straight ahead and her face as white as snow.

He had had it coming. He had had it coming. She continued walking blindly outside as her head swam and her mind buzzed dazedly. He was less than human, not even fit to be called an animal, and she didn’t regret a thing, not a thing! The bite of cold, crisp air that carried a hint of frost in its wintry chill brought her back to reality and she suddenly realised she needed to get off the main thoroughfare in which the hotel was situated and down one of the side-streets, fast. The blood-hounds would be after her within minutes and she couldn’t face anyone now. In fact, she was shaking so much she could barely stand upright.

The small wine bar halfway down the narrow road that led off the main street with its flowing traffic and bright lights was almost deserted, and as she caught the surprised eyes of the young barman it dawned on her that her coat and handbag were back with Joe at the hotel, her thin wool dress patently unsuitable for outdoor wear.

Damn, damn, damn…Once through the door trendily marked ‘Lassies’, she leant against the cool, tiled walls of the cloakroom as her head spun. She’d have to ask the barman if she could use the phone. Maybe call the hotel and ask Joe to bring her things here? She shut her eyes tightly. He’d be furious, more than furious, but there was nothing else she could do. Even her doorkey was in that bag.

The phone call was even worse than she had anticipated, Joe’s voice tight and strange-sounding, but he promised to be with her within minutes and that was all she cared about. She sat shivering slightly, more with reaction than cold, in a small alcove next to the door as the full awareness of what she had done washed over her in a sickening flood. Her father would have been horrified at his only offspring causing such a scene. She shook her head painfully as she pictured his mild, gentle face in her mind. He had been so trusting, so kind, the perfect victim for someone as ruthless as Kane Steel: the proverbial lamb to the slaughter.

‘Miss Gordon?’ She froze for an endless moment before turning her head with a feeling of inde-scribable doom as the hated voice spoke from the doorway. ‘You don’t get away as easily as that. Outside, now!’ She had never actually seen any-one’s face black with rage before, but she was seeing it now, every feature twisted almost out of recognition by the violent fury that had suffused his flesh with dark colour.

‘What——?’ As he pulled her to her feet her voice

was cut off with the speed with which he propelled her through the door. Just outside, parked more on the pavement than the road, a poker-faced chauffeur sat silently at the wheel of a magnificent silver-grey Bentley, his immaculate uniform the exact same shade as the car and his eyes staring straight ahead as Kane Steel gestured angrily towards the vehicle.

‘Get in.’

‘You must be joking.’ She struggled slightly in his iron grasp, ready to make a run for it at the slightest opportunity.

‘I said get in, Miss Gordon.’ The tone was as-tringent in the extreme.

‘I heard you.’ She tried to stop the fear that was making her heart pound like a drum from showing either in her face or voice, but was aware, with humiliating chagrin, that he could probably feel the trembling that was consuming her body through his rigid hold on her arm. There wasn’t a soul about. She glanced quickly up and down the deserted, discreetly lit street as icy little shivers flickered down her spine and the palms of her hands became damp with panic. Help, where was Joe; where was anybody? She could see the bright lights and heavy flow of traffic at the junction of the road, but here, in this quiet little backwater, all was macabrely still.

‘If you are hoping Joe Flanders is coming to your rescue, forget it.’ He swung her round now so that she was forced to stare up into the ruthless face. ‘Look in there.’

She glanced through the open door of the Bentley to see her coat and handbag resting on the seat. ‘Oh, great.’ There was a wealth of bitterness in her voice. ‘How did you manage that? Used a bit of the power and influence that makes you think you are a little tin god, I suppose?’ How could Joe let her down like this? How could he?

‘Exactly,’ he said bitingly. ‘I have met Mr Flanders on more than one occasion and he was kind enough to come forward when my assistant made enquiries at Reception and asked for your name to be broadcast just as you phoned. He knows me——’

‘I know you,’ she interrupted shakily, ‘and that’s precisely why I’m not getting in there with you.’

‘Think again.’ His smile was more like a snarl, the finely shaped lips drawing back over white strong teeth menacingly. ‘You are verging on charges of defamation of character, assault, causing an affray in a public place. Need I go on?’ The blue eyes were merciless. ‘A women’s prison is not the best place to spend Christmas, Miss Gordon, but it can be arranged, if you insist.’

‘You wouldn’t…’ As she stared up into the hard face her deep brown eyes widened with horror as she saw the coldness in his narrowed blue gaze. ‘You would, you’d actually do that?’

‘Too true.’ He let go of her arm abruptly, sliding into the shadowed depths of the car as he left her standing, trembling, on the pavement. ‘You have a choice, Miss Gordon, and you will make it in the next ten seconds. You can either get in this vehicle so we can discuss your outrageous behaviour privately, or we can let the whole matter be put in the hands of officialdom. Which is it to be?’ The deep voice was merciless.

She gnawed her lower lip for a second as she stood shivering in the cold evening air. ‘Where are you going to take me?’

‘That’s my business.’ He leant forward to fix her with the piercing eyes. ‘Time’s up, Miss Gordon, no more sweet persuasion.’

‘You leave me with no choice,’ she said bleakly, flinching as he laughed harshly.

‘Dead right.’ He moved over to the opposite side of the car as she clambered in miserably, and as she sank back she was immediately enveloped in the deliciously expensive smell of fine leather, discreetly exclusive aftershave and the unmistakable aura of fabulous wealth. ‘Now.’ In the close con-fines of the car he suddenly seemed enormously big and for the first time her senses registered the ex-ceptionally broad shoulders, well-developed chest and sheer breadth that went with extreme height. ‘Are you going to give me your address?’

‘No.’ She forced herself to look full into the rugged dark face. ‘I am not.’

‘Very well.’ He turned his head and spoke to the driver, giving an address she had never heard of, before snapping the glass partition shut with a definite click. ‘Don’t forget, I did ask,’ he drawled sardonically.

‘Now just hang on a minute.’ The apprehension and fear she had been trying to hide for the last five minutes burst forth. ‘You can’t kidnap me.’

‘Kidnap you, Miss Gordon?’ The firm lips drew back in an unmistakable sneer. ‘Why on earth would I want to kidnap such a disagreeable, patently unstable person as yourself? I have enough aggravation in my life without seeking more.’

‘Where are we going, then?’ She ignored the in-sults for the moment; there were more important things to hand.

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ He settled back in the luxurious seat and closed his eyes. ‘I have had just about all I am going to take tonight so I suggest you keep that nasty little mouth closed until we reach our destination. Why I am even bothering to try and find out what this is all about I don’t know. I must be mad.’

‘You know what——’

‘Be quiet, Miss Gordon.’ He didn’t open his eyes as he spoke but the tone was enough to shut her mouth with a little snap. He was formidable. Her heart thumped against her chest wall so hard she was sure he must hear it. He was powerful and dangerous, and the sudden realisation that she had grabbed a tiger by the tail drove all lucid thought from her head for a few minutes as sheer panic had her glancing desperately out of the car window. Could she jump out at the next traffic lights? He couldn’t exactly chase her through the streets of London.

‘Baines has locked the doors automatically, on my instructions.’ The deep, gravelly voice made her jump and as her eyes shot to his face she saw that the eyelids were still firmly closed. ‘Lie back and enjoy the ride, Miss Gordon. You are in my clutches now, whether you like it or not.’

‘I don’t!’

‘Good.’ He shifted slightly as he spoke. ‘Consider it a down payment on your penance.’

‘My penance?’ she squeaked disbelievingly. ‘Now just look here; I don’t know what you’ve got in mind but——’

‘That’s probably just as well.’ He was quite un-moved, lying back in the seat like a great, dangerous black cat. ‘No one crosses me and gets away with it, Miss Gordon. Bear that in mind.’

She glared at him silently as the car sped on in the night traffic, although it was quite wasted on the closed eyes. He was a very masculine man. Her gaze idly wandered over the rugged, hard features and thick, straight black hair that had touches of silver above the ears. Strong, vigorous, probably very virile…

She stiffened with horror at the path her thoughts had traversed on to. What on earth was she thinking? She couldn’t care less if he was the most virile man on earth—this was Kane Steel, the original rat on two legs. So what if he was handsome? She loathed him, hated him…But then he wasn’t really handsome, was he? She found herself contemplating the relaxed face again. No, not at all, really, and yet there was something, a magnetism, a breathtakingly dynamic attractiveness, that was all male and more compelling than any pretty-boy looks. She shook her head at her own treachery. There was nothing good about this man, nothing at all, be it looks or anything else.

As the big car ate up the miles she began to feel more and more worried with each passing landmark. This was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. If they didn’t stop soon she would start screaming and banging on the glass partition until the driver stopped. She was a grown woman of twenty-four years of age, for goodness’ sake, not some skittery schoolgirl who couldn’t say boo to a goose.

‘Had you eaten?’

‘What?’ She started so violently as the deep voice spoke that she completely missed what he had said.

The amazingly compelling eyes opened and fixed her with their arctic blueness. ‘I asked if you had eaten. Before your wonderful performance in front of Wapping’s finest.’

‘It wasn’t a performance, it was…’ Her voice trailed away as she couldn’t think of a suitable comparison and she stiffened in outrage as he smiled coldly, his face full of burningly acidic contempt.

‘I am not surprised your actions leave you speechless,’ he said with icy biting humour. ‘I can assure you they had exactly the same effect on me.’

‘Huh!’ She eyed him balefully. ‘Well——’

‘I said, had you eaten?’ There was a note in the resonant voice now that suggested she had better reply, fast.

‘No, as a matter of fact,’ she said tightly, her eyes flashing her hostility and dislike. ‘Although what it’s got to do with you——’

‘Spare me.’ He cut off her words with an irritable wave of his hand as he turned to look out of the window. ‘We’re here.’

‘Where’s here?’ she asked warily, her gaze widening as the beautiful car drove between two wide-open gates set in a high brick wall and journeyed on down a huge gravel drive towards an enormous house in the distance.

‘My home.’ He eyed her blandly as vivid colour surged into her cheeks. ‘The place where my word is law and I’m obeyed implicitly, understand?’ His eyes mocked her fear.

‘Your home?’ Her voice had risen in line with her apprehension. ‘Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at but——’

‘I am playing at nothing, Miss Gordon,’ he bit back sharply, his eyes as cold as ice and his face stony. ‘The last thing on my mind is games. I have been assaulted with no warning, accused of all manner of diverse crimes, forced to leave a Press conference in the worst possible circumstances, knowing that my photo will be splashed all over the front pages tomorrow morning, to the delight of my competitors, all because you have had a brain-storm. Now, if that counts as playing in your book you are crazier than I imagined.’

‘I am not crazy——’ She stopped abruptly when he uncoiled his big body as the chauffeur opened the door, and he reached in as soon as he was outside, almost hauling her out of the car.

‘Now you are going to come in the house and explain to me what this is all about,’ he said coldly, ‘and you’d better pray while you’re about it that you can convince me it’s justified.’

‘You’re a bully,’ she said weakly as she stood next to him on the driveway in front of the endless mansion. She didn’t know which intimidated her more, the huge, incredibly beautiful house or the massive figure next to her. At the hotel she had been too incensed and blind with rage to take in his great height, but now she realised he must be at least a foot taller than her five feet four and he towered over her like an avenging angel. Or perhaps not an angel, she corrected herself silently as her gaze fastened on the lethal cold eyes—no, definitely not!

‘You don’t know the half,’ he said grimly as he ushered her up the massive stone steps towards the crested front door. ‘You made me lose my temper tonight, Miss Gordon, and that’s something I haven’t done in years. You wouldn’t like it a second time.’

‘No?’ She stared at him defiantly as her legs shook.

‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘but I’ve got the most dis-tinct feeling it’s a definite possibility, so just play it cool, eh?’

‘Cool?’ She jerked her arm from his hand and glared up into the dark face with all the venom she could muster. ‘Cool! You’ve got a cheek, you really have——’

‘Now that is a clear case of the pot calling the kettle black,’ he said tightly as the chauffeur drove the big car past them and towards a large row of garages in the distance, ‘but I’ve got no intention of standing out here bandying words with you any more. You’ll come in, you’ll sit down and you will tell me what this is all about. Got it?’

As he opened the front door she had the strangest feeling, for a brief moment, that she had stepped on to the set of a film. If a famous film star had suddenly glided down the huge winding staircase that dominated the far end of the massive hall she wouldn’t have been at all surprised. Dallas and Dynasty, eat your heart out, she thought with desperate humour as her eyes took in the ankle-deep cream carpet, the dark wood and obvious antiques and the glittering chandeliers overhead. And she had hit him! She had never suffered from hysteria before, but there was something flooding into her system that must be akin to it.