LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘BULLSEYE!’

      Mariann paused in the doorway of her new boss’s office, taken aback by his cry of triumph. Oh, good! she thought. He’s a bit zany! She saw he’d been playing darts—a healthy sign, she reckoned, in a man she’d judged to be under stress.

      But when he turned there was a startling malevolence in his expression and she took the dart he thrust towards her with a wary concern. Ordinary bosses were difficult enough; she wasn’t too keen to play games with a maniacal one! What was his hang-up?

      ‘I’ll pass on the darts,’ she said pleasantly. ‘I came to—’

      ‘Throw it,’ he growled, jerking his head at the wall opposite.

      Her sister Tanya had always said publishers were mad! Mariann stifled a giggle and balanced the dart between finger and thumb to humour him, turning her attention to the large photograph which had been skewered to the noticeboard by three other darts.

      For a moment her hand wavered. Staring back at her was a man who seemed to burn holes in her. ‘At him? Who is he?’ she murmured in awe.

      ‘You must know Vigadó Gabór!’

      Now she understood! Like many other publishers, Lionel had suffered because of this man. For several seconds, Vigadó’s intense animal quality held her quite still. It was the eyes that mesmerised her, glowering out black and full of malevolence from under lowered brows, capturing her, drawing her to him as surely as if she were being tugged on a rope like a slave!

      ‘Extraordinary guy!’ she managed, quite unreasonably disturbed. How infuriating! Her self-respect, her female pride was ruffled. Men never had that effect on her.

      ‘You said it.’ Lionel sounded strangely pleased.

      ‘Where’s his nice toothy smile for the photographer?’ she asked wryly, and studied the rest of him. Wide shoulders. An expensively toned torso beneath that expensively tailored navy suit. Dark as the devil. And a scar that slashed into an inch or so of his Slavonic cheekbones, lending him a disquieteningly exciting air of wickedness. ‘Wow! How did he get that?’ she murmured.

      ‘Duelling, they say.’ Her boss seemed to be watching her reaction like a hawk.

      She laughed in disbelief. Too romantics ‘Oh, yes?’

      ‘He’s a wild, impetuous Hungarian with a vile temper——’

      ‘Fighting over a woman?’ she hazarded, seeing the possibility instantly.

      ‘Women,’ answered Lionel scathingly.

      She wasn’t surprised. He had a mouth to make bones liquefy and a jaw…She smiled. That jaw told everything: his ruthlessness, the tenacity, the way he’d swept through the publishing world like a scourge. He’d been the talk of the Frankfurt Book Fair.

      Her dart flew arrow-straight and lodged between a pair of wickedly sculptured lips. ‘Will that

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