LITMIR.BIZ

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it is. Kind of you to draw my attention to the throb in your breast,’ he said mockingly, his Hungarian accent enhanced by the deep and husky timbre.

      Mariann blushed at his directness. ‘I meant—’

      ‘Your acrobatics were dangerous. You could have broken your neck. How very foolish.’

      She suppressed a smile of triumph. It was obvious he thought she was a dense, fluffy-headed female, and she wasn’t going to disillusion him! Fluffiness suited her in the circumstances; he’d never suspect her of any greater crime. And…it would be amusing to pull the wool over the eyes of such a womaniser, for Lionel’s sake…

      ‘Oh, my! I never thought of that!’ she cried in simulated horror, her voice muffled by his shoulder. ‘You’ve got to admit, though, if I’d ended up as dead as frozen chicken in a freezer, my hair would have looked nice,’ she reasoned idiotically, dying to laugh out loud and share the joke with someone.

      His chest heaved up and down at her logic and Mariann realised to her amazement that he was trying not to laugh too. A monster with a sense of humour? she marvelled.

      ‘Can’t argue with that,’ he said evenly. ‘Now who…?’

      He paused and went quite still for several seconds while the hairs on Mariann’s neck lifted in sheer apprehension. He was facing the other office. Could he see the open cabinet from there? She began to shake.

      ‘Somethin’ wrong?’ she croaked, feeling the quick rise and fall of his broad chest. And she also sensed an increased alertness; he was suddenly on guard. Surreptitiously she tried to check the wig.

      ‘Yes,’ he answered softly and Mariann tensed. ‘There’s paint on your hair.’ She breathed again. Paint! And she’d been afraid that he’d been putting two and two together, had looked right inside her head and read the words ‘Commercial Spy’ written there! ‘Looks like a repeat visit to the hairdresser,’ he mused, trying to lift one of her hands which was still locked rigid on her scalp.

      ‘Don’t!’ she said hastily, afraid he’d pull the wig askew. ‘I don’t like it being mussed up. The paint’ll wash out,’ she added, lifting her face from the shelter of his expensively soft coat and pushing herself back a little. Thinking she’d been a bit abrupt, she gave him a ‘my hero’ smile. ‘Thanks for catching me,’ she said politely, and met his gaze properly for the first time.

      Wow! she thought in stunned admiration. What ruinously liquid eyes! Melting chocolate, she missed, and then recoiled in alarm because the chocolate seemed to be darkening and thickening as though he found her attractive. He shouldn’t have eyes you could dream in! she thought crossly. He should be cold and vicious with an icicle gaze, jagged teeth and foul breath!

      Lionel had shown her articles and told her tales about this man to make her stomach turn. Staff meetings in rooms without chairs so no one waffled. High pay, long hours, ruthless sackings. Phone-tapping and bugging of his competitors’ offices and a no-hands-barred policy of seducing any woman who might aid his head-hunting expeditions. Secretaries in hysterics. Desperate husbands, suicidal wives whom Vigadó had loved and left.

      A man with no morals. Furthermore, a man with only one aim: a driving need that amounted to an obsession to dominate everyone he came across, reducing strong men to quivering wrecks, tough editors to tear, boardrooms into submission.

      He was certainly intent, she noticed angrily, on making the most of having a blonde fall like manna from the skies I En panic, she fought down a rush of sinful sensation as his mouth almost nuzzled her cheek. Her hands pushed the broad shoulders but she was locked in place by his immovable arms and all that happened was that her spine arched back and she was staring at his mocking lips.

      ‘I had no choice but to catch you,’ said his lover-close mouth, letting the lover-husky voice wash warm breath over her dizzily sensitised skin. ‘I walked in, saw a pair of provocative bare legs waving around at eye-level, and then a beautiful blonde fell into my arms. And she began to tremble appealingly, virtually asking for…I wonder what?’

      Mariann stiffened. He’d changed from showing anger at the intrusion to acting like a hunter who’d found his dinner wandering provocatively around his lair. That was a deliberate opening gambit—but how to handle it? she wondered. Should it be the usual joky, gentle let-down, or a quick nipping in the bud? Infuriatingly, she couldn’t risk annoying him!

      ‘I had a shock,’ she confided. ‘Me past life zipped past me eyes.’

      ‘Oh! That must have been a dreadful experience to go through. I sympathise,’ he murmured insincerely.

      ‘Ta. I’m okey-dokey now,’ she assured him. ‘Give a girl a bit of breathin’ space, there’s a duck!’

      ‘No,’ he said succinctly.

      Mariann was taken aback. ‘No?’ she repeated.

      ‘I’m hanging on to you till we establish what you’re doing in here,’ he said in a brittle voice, his grip tightening. ‘These are my premises and it’s after office hours, even Hungarian ones.’

      ‘I know,’ she said as cheerfully as she could, comparing him mentally to his photograph. He looked much more dangerous in the flesh, as if he’d flick their darts back and deliberately pierce a few of her vital arteries. Darn it, she’d have to soften him up and lull his suspicions by being moronic! And bluff like mad. ‘You’re the home-grown whiz-kid!’ she said with girly admiration.

      ‘I reckon I am,’ he agreed, his cynical gaze resting thoughtfully on her. ‘Vigadó Gab6r. And you?’

      ‘Mimi,’ she supplied and flashed a witless smile, deeply disappointed that she dare not risk saying, Call me Mimi!

      ‘Mimi,’ he repeated and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

      Mariann didn’t blame him. It had seemed a harmless and appropriate choice when she’d been confronted by Vigadó’s lecherous office manager. Being ‘Mimi’ had made her feel coy and less inclined to ruin everything by crushing him with well-directed scorn when he’d suggested bringing a bottle of wine around to wherever she was staying.

      Now, with this worldly-wise, laser-sharp tycoon dwelling on the likelihood of the name—instead of being mesmerised like the office manager by the way her vital statistics moved—she sensed she’d made a mistake.

      So she grimaced and shrugged. ‘Daft name, ain’t it?’ she chirruped.

      ‘Yes. Very.’ To her dismay, Mariann’s body betrayed her, tightening with apprehension at his increasingly cynical glance. ‘You’re extremely tense. Women usually relax in my arms. Are you afraid of me?’ he asked with apparent innocence. But his voice had a steely edge to it.

      ‘You’ve got such…extraordinary eyes!’ she admitted huskily. ‘All glinty, like butcher’s knives. Give me the shivers, they do!’

      ‘My eyes are telling you what I’m thinking,’ he said tightly. ‘You see, I don’t take kindly to intruders, Mimi.’

      ‘Intruder?’ She bristled. ‘I’m legit!’

      ‘Legit what?’ he drawled.

      Her head jerked confidently in the direction of the ladders. ‘Decorator, of course! Have paint tin and sandpaper, will travel!’

      ‘Really. Then why the nerves?’

      Annoyed with herself, she tried to ease her tension and widened her eyes in simulated awe. ‘Dunno. But I’ve never been this close to a millionaire before!’

      ‘Billionaire,’ he corrected, reaching out unexpectedly to smooth her hair back off her face.

      ‘Ooh! Don’t! Tickles!’ she gurgled in panic, arching away. He’d find the join!

      His mouth thinned. He was quite unaffected by her girly appeal, she realised in dismay. ‘How did you know who I was when I first walked into the office, Mimi?’

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