Merger By Matrimony (6 page)

‘Make it a working proposition.'

‘Don't you mean chop it up into sections and sell it off individually once it's up and running?'

‘Which only shows your ignorance of the facts!' he snapped back at her. ‘I intend to incorporate it into my own portfolio.'

‘And what about the people who work there?' she demanded.

‘Most would stay. Some would be asked to leave.'

‘Who?
Who
would you ask to leave?'

‘I'm not about to hand over that kind of information to you.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because we're on opposite sides of the fence!' He realised that he was on the verge of shouting. He was a man who couldn't remember the last time he had raised his voice, because so much more could be achieved with a murmur—yet here he was, practically shouting. He was also breathing hard and fast, as though he had just completed a marathon. ‘You,' he grated, approaching her chair, scraping it around so that he was staring down at
her, ‘are impossible.' He leaned over her, his hands on either side of her chair, caging her in so that she was forced backwards as though the pressure of his personality was a physical force. ‘In fact, I would go so far as to say that
you
are the most impossible woman I have
ever
met in my entire life!' His face was inches away from hers and Destiny was suddenly terrified. Not terrified that he might hit her, or even hurl another well-targeted insult at her. She was terrified because something in what he said struck deep into her and caused her pain. The backs of her eyes began to sting and she blinked furiously.

‘That's not very kind,' she whispered in a small voice, and then, to her further dismay, a lonesome tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed it aside in a wave of mortification and stared down at her fingers.

‘Oh, God. Don't do that. Please don't do that. Here.' He fumbled in his pocket and extracted a handkerchief. ‘Take this.'

Destiny blindly grabbed it and wiped her eyes, pressing her fingers into them to staunch any further leakage.

‘I'm sorry,' he said roughly. ‘I didn't think… Oh, God, say something, would you…? Please?'

She would, she thought, if she could, but she knew better than to rely on her vocal cords right now. Instead, she twisted the handkerchief in her fingers, playing with it for distraction from the appalling situation she was now in.

‘I'm sorry, Destiny. I never dreamt…'

‘It's all right,' she said on a sigh. ‘Would you mind…? I can't breathe with you so close…'

Callum swiftly withdrew, but only to drag a chair in front of hers, which gave her a reprieve of several inches more but not enough.

‘Look,' she said in a steadier voice, ‘there's no need to apologise. I know I'm not…not what men…' She paused and sucked in her breath, then expelled it a little shakily. ‘I realise that I'm not feminine and frilly and the sort of woman that men…I've never known what it was like to date boys and flirt.' A fleeting glance at a face that was far too concerned for her comfort, then some more frantic twisting of the handkerchief. ‘I mean, my lifestyle has taught me how to be strong. I've always had to be, you see. Weakness isn't something that goes down too well when you're in the middle of nowhere and someone might be depending on you to administer medicine to them or sew some stitches or draw out toxin from a snake bite.'

He stroked her hair, running his fingers through it in a soothing, rhythmic way.

‘You should try looking in the mirror some time,' he murmured.

‘Not many of them are long enough to fit all of me in.' She tried an unsuccessful laugh and thought with a certain amount of envy of her stepcousin.
She
was the sort of woman oozing feminine attraction. Soft and small and girlishly sexy. There was nothing feigned about her and nature had kindly lent her a huge helping hand at birth in the form of a tiny, neat body and the kind of face that would always have men running behind her like lap-dogs. Big, strong men like the one in front of her now. She'd read enough articles in magazines about men and their need to act as protector to their women. Not too many about men who liked women who could protect themselves and at a pinch could probably do a passable job at protecting
them
in the bargain.

Perhaps she should just sell the damned company and head back to where she belonged. This big, new world
was too big for her. She felt like the country mouse on its ruinous trip to visit the town mouse.

The sound of the doorbell clanged into the brief silence between them and she jumped as though she had been scalded. He started as well and muttered an oath under his breath; then he stood up and waited till she had risen shakily to her feet.

Relief washed over her. She was not one for spouting forth confidences. When it came to her thoughts and her feelings, Destiny was adept at keeping her counsel. She could scarcely believe that Callum Ross had somehow broken through her reserve and extracted depths of self-pity which she'd never known even existed.

Now, she just wanted him out. She practically shovelled him to the front door.

‘Are you sure you won't come with us tomorrow evening?' he asked, taking his time even though he must be able to sense her urgency to get rid of him.

‘Quite sure.'

‘When do you expect to come to a decision about the company?'

Destiny shrugged, back in control of her wayward feelings. ‘I'm spending a week there going through things with the directors and Derek; then I'm going to talk to the accountant and try and get an honest opinion of whether the company's salvageable or not.'

‘It's not, without a huge injection of capital—which you haven't got. You don't have to talk to your accountant for that information. You can just talk to me.'

‘I hope to have come to some kind of decision once I've done that,' she carried on, ignoring his interruption. She reached out to open the front door and he grasped her wrist. Her eyes, he noticed, were still pink, even though her voice was steady. She had lost control and he
sensed that she had surprised herself. Surprised herself because she was not a woman who frequently lost control or resorted to any feminine wiles such as the random shedding of tears to stir the heartstrings. For a minute she'd allowed him into her world, and he could taste his own desire to find out more like a drug coursing through his veins.

Her wrist caught between his fingers felt hot and his breathing was sluggish.

‘Would you mind letting me go?' Her green eyes were polite and cautious, and for a second he wondered how she would react if he told her that he really
would
mind.

‘Why don't we meet over dinner to discuss details of…the company?' he said. He edged towards the door, opened it slightly and nodded to his driver. ‘Hate getting you out here at this ungodly hour but it won't do a thing, George. Completely useless piece of machinery. Give it a go, would you?' His hand was still gripping hers.

‘There's nothing to discuss until—'

‘I want to show you some of the plans I have for the company, should you sell.'

‘Could you let me go, please?'

He obediently dropped her hand but remained strategically placed in front of the door, which he had quietly shut back.

‘Dinner tomorrow night. I'll pick you up around seven thirty.'

‘I have no intent—'

‘It's really a good idea to get all your facts in place before you make any kind of decision.'

‘Derek—'

‘—has no say whatsoever in your decision. He might want to puff himself out and hold your hand but there's
no need for you to stroke his ego by going along for the ride…'

‘I'm doing no such thing!'

‘No? Sure? No girlish, helpless giggles while he pontificates and throws his weight around?'

‘I am not a
helpless, giggling girl,
' Destiny informed him hotly.

‘Then why are you so afraid of meeting me without him around as a chaperon?'

‘I am
not afraid of meeting you,
' she said through gritted teeth.

‘Good. Then tomorrow at seven thirty.'

‘And what would Stephanie say to that?'

‘I'm proposing a meeting to discuss business,' Callum interjected smoothly, gratified to see a tell-tale flush spread across her face. He savoured it for a few seconds, then continued, ‘I'm sure she wouldn't have any objections.'

‘My wardrobe is a bit scant,' Destiny objected weakly. Had she just been bulldozed into something? It certainly felt like it although, when she recapped their conversation, she couldn't pinpoint
why.

‘You're going shopping tomorrow, though.'

‘Oh, so I am. And how do you know that, anyway?'

‘You mentioned it to Stephanie over dinner.'

For someone who had not seemed highly riveted at the time, the man had a keen listening ear, she thought.

‘You should take her along with you. I know she'd be thrilled. There's very little Steph appreciates more than several hours spent tramping in and out of stores and spending money like water.'

‘In which case, I'd better not.' An involuntary smile flitted across her face. ‘If there's one thing
I
don't appreciate, it's tramping in and out of stores. I wouldn't
know about the
spending money like water,
having never had any, but I suspect I probably wouldn't much like that either.'

There was the sound of the car revving into action, which galvanised Callum into yanking open the door and, before his driver could say a word, she was mystified to see him spoken to in low undertones and then Callum was in the passenger seat and the car was gliding away into the night.

Leaving her, she thought the following morning, facing yet another stressful encounter with a man whose image was proving to have superglue properties when it came to lodging in her head.

Despite that, when, just as she was about to leave the house, her father called, she found herself reluctant to confide anything about Callum. It was the first time she had spoken to him since she'd arrived in England, and he'd had to go to the nearest town for use of a telephone. He told her everything that was happening on the compound, little titbits of gossip that made her smile, passed on a
missing you
message from Henri, and conjured up pictures of heat and jungle that seemed more than a lifetime away. In return, she told him what she had been up to, downplaying her own feelings of inadequacy at being thrown in at the deep end to cope with a situation for which nothing in her life had prepared her. She tried to make London sound exciting, because she knew that her father would worry himself sick if she did otherwise, but really when she thought about London the image became entangled with the image of Callum—whose presence she diluted, for her father's benefit, into
an annoying little man who wants me to sell the company.

‘Don't be bullied into doing anything you don't want to do,' her father said anxiously.

‘Oh, I can take care of myself, Dad,' Destiny said. ‘I'm not worried at all by Callum Ross.' She conjured up a mental picture of his dark, powerful face, and said with a grin, ‘He's really just a silly little chap who thinks he can get his own way.'

‘Sounds an unpleasant type, my darling. Why don't you let that Derek man take care of him?'

‘Oh, I can handle the man myself,' she said airily.

‘Eat him up and spit him out,' her father said with a smile in his voice, which was a compliment, she knew, but managed to reignite those niggling little ideas that had taken root in her mind ever since she had met Callum Ross. Little ideas that being fiercely independent and being able to take care of herself was all very well in the depths of Panama, but somehow out of place in a city where the interaction between the opposite sexes called for an appealing helplessness that she found difficult to muster. In fact, impossible.

She hung up after fifteen minutes, feeling vaguely depressed. She looked in the mirror and saw an ill-dressed, unfeminine, overtall and utterly unsexy woman with hair chopped into no particular cut and a body too well toned by a life that had always involved physical exertion. She had no problem kayaking along treacherous rivers through dense undergrowth, but there were no treacherous rivers in the city of London and that particular talent was useless. She had no use for make-up in the steaming heat, but here her face felt naked. The clothes she had always worn, loose-fitting and functional, were fine on the compound, but she was fast realising that dressing sensibly to cope with heat and mosquitoes was good in the jungle but depressingly laughable in a city. Her hands, strong and hard-working, now seemed like hands a man should have and not a woman.

Had she forgotten somewhere along the way that she
was
a woman? The thought made her even more dejected. She thought of her stepcousin with her beautifully manicured nails painted the pink of candy floss and felt graceless and gauche in comparison.

Henri thinks that I'm attractive,
she thought to herself. But did he really? Or did he just think that she was the best of the bunch?

Five hours spent on Oxford Street and the King's Road was no sop to her deflated spirits. She spent a great deal of time wondering which shops were worth visiting and looking around her in a bewildered, confused fashion. Several times she had literally been swept along by the crowds of shoppers like a tadpole caught in a downstream current.

The pace was swift and left no room for uncertain young girls with no particular agenda aside from gathering the skeleton of a wardrobe together.

In the end, she found herself outside Harvey Nichols, took a deep breath and handed herself over to the experience of a shop assistant. She did her best not to convert the vast quantities of money she was spending on clothes into an amount that would have bought a lot more important things in Panama.