Taken Over - PENNY JORDAN

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As she moved Peter’s ring glittered under the office lighting and she almost flinched from its gleam. It wasn’t really her sort of ring at all, far too cold and brash; chosen for show—rather like her marriage an inner voice taunted—but Cassie firmly dismissed it. As yet she and Peter had made no formal announcement to the press of their engagement. Peter’s father had suggested they wait until just before the wedding; had in fact told them that he would call a press conference for that day, at which the announcement would be made. Although she had said nothing at the time, Cassie frowned a little, wondering if she was quite happy about the way Peter’s father seemed to be ruling their lives. Peter was weak where his parents were concerned, and although initially that had not worried her, gradually she was coming to see their power over him as a cause for concern. What would happen if there were ever to be a clash between Pentaton’s interests and those of Cassietronics? Would Peter support her?

      Telling herself that she was just suffering from pre-nuptial nerves Cassie let herself out of her office. The temporary secretary; a tall, attractive brunette smiled at her, but Cassie ignored her smile. The other girl was poised and attractive, her very self-confidence making Cassie miserably aware of her own short-comings. Although she was only wearing a very simple skirt and blouse the rich emerald colour provided a stark contrast for Cassie’s own drab oatmeal outfit.

      Would there ever come a day when the sight of a pretty woman didn’t immediately underline and reinforce her own insecurities Cassie wondered bitterly, as she left the office.

      Her car was parked in the basement car park, and she had already told the temp that she didn’t expect to be back that afternoon. In the capacious bag she always carried with her were the notes she had jotted down for her new game. Perhaps this evening she would get an opportunity to work on them. The initial stages of creating a new game were always very absorbing, and as she pressed the basement button in the lift Cassie felt her doubts and dreads slip away as she was filled with the familiar tide of exultation a new venture always brought her.

      By the time she stepped out of the lift she was feeling much more optimistic. The basement was murkily dark after the bright light of the lift, and while she waited for her eyes to adjust she made her way automatically to her parking bay. As she reached her car she frowned over the selfish way in which the owner of the next bay had parked his vehicle, almost, but not quite blocking her in. The car was unfamiliar to her, long and sleek, its black paintwork glittering almost menacingly.

      As she drew nearer she recognised its distinctive trademark and her mouth curled disdainfully. A Ferrari, no doubt the proud possession of some image-conscious, successful businessman occupying one of the other offices. Without bothering to give it another glance Cassie extracted her keys from her bag and bent to insert them into the lock.

      The totally unexpected pressure of strong fingers on her arm made her freeze, her heart thudding in instinctive terror as fear drove a surge of adrenalin through her veins. Without stopping to think or reason Cassie tried to pull away, fear clawing frantically inside her. Her free hand lashed out at her foe, palm and fingers smarting from the blow she managed to land against a frighteningly hard torso.

      ‘Stop it, I don’t intend to hurt you.’ Her free hand was tethered, imprisoned with its fellow behind her back in the same instant that she was spun round to face her assailant.

      The sight of him was almost as terrifying as discovering his presence. The colour drained from Cassie’s face as she stared up into familiar ink-blue eyes and then unwillingly down over a hard boned male face to the grim line of a mouth drawn into a hard curl of disdain.

      ‘If you always react like that when a man touches you, Peter Williams must have been dreading his honeymoon.’

      The mocking words infiltrated her brain slowly because it was far too busy trying to come to terms with the identity of her attacker.

      ‘Just as well I’m going to save him the ordeal isn’t it?’

      Cassie’s mind refused to function. She stared disbelievingly up into Joel Howard’s face, barely taking in what he was saying.

      Still holding her tethered with one hand, he used the other to reach behind him and snap open the passenger door of the Ferrari.

      Stupidly Cassie stared at it. ‘That’s your car?’

      Without deigning to answer her he pulled open the door, half pushing and half lifting her into the seat. His actions released Cassie from her frozen state and she started to fight to get free, pushing against the hard muscled wall of his chest as he leaned across her securing the seat belt.

      ‘Stop that.’ His voice was curt. ‘I don’t want to have to use violence, but that doesn’t mean I won’t, if I need to …’

      The tone of his voice warned Cassie that he was telling the truth. Abruptly she retreated from him, tensing back in her seat like a small animal trying to curl into a protective ball.

      ‘I don’t understand,’ she told him shakily. ‘What is this all about?’

      His car door slammed as he got in beside her, pressing a button. The faint click told Cassie what he had done and she looked wildly at her door reaching for the handle.

      ‘Too late, I’ve just locked us in.’ The laconic voice agitated her already overwrought nerves.

      ‘Will you please tell me what stupid game you think you’re playing,’ she demanded wildly. ‘I’m supposed to be on my way to a fitting for my wedding dress, and you’re making me late.’

      ‘Since you won’t be wearing it, that hardly matters,’ he told her coolly, snapping on his own seat belt and switching on the engine. ‘Did you really think I’d sit tamely by and let you destroy everything I’d worked for over the last ten years?’

      Muzzily Cassie shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. ‘I’m not going to let you take over my company, if that’s what all this is about,’ she told him defiantly. ‘And no amount of sweettalk from you will persuade me. How did you know that I would be here this afternoon?’ she demanded, suddenly suspicious.

      ‘Easy. I persuaded your secretary to take a few days off so that mine could monitor your comings and goings.’

      ‘Your secretary.’ Cassie was bitterly enraged. ‘No doubt she much prefers working for you than me,’ she told him sarcastically remembering the girl’s immaculate grooming and pretty face.

      ‘No doubt,’ Joel Howard replied smoothly, ‘but she’ll be amply rewarded for her efforts.’

      His tone and the look that accompanied it gave Cassie the distinct impression that Joel Howard believed that every female alive had her price if one was prepared to pay it. He had, she thought in quick surprise, almost as low an opinion of her sex as she had of his. She frowned, realising the strangeness of this thought. She would have expected a man as sexually compelling as Joel would be a devout admirer of the female sex; after all there was no doubt that he was thoroughly spoiled by it, so why did she have the impression that he despised, even perhaps, disliked women.

      ‘And how will you reward her,’ she flashed back at him, angered as much by her own thoughts as by his manner. ‘In cash or in kind …’

      She saw his face harden as his hands gripped the wheel of his car.

      ‘Don’t try the clever comments on me,’ he advised her harshly. ‘It’s hardly my fault if your sex is so open to bribery, is it?’

      ‘Throughout the ages women have been forced to use what weapons they can against men, because men persist in considering them their inferiors,’ Cassie told him spiritedly, her mouth twisting bitterly as she remembered the price she had been forced to pay for her clever mathematical brain both by her own and the male sex.

      ‘I don’t have time to argue semantics right now,’ Joel told her hardily, ‘we’ve got an appointment to keep.’

      ‘An appointment?’ Cassie’s heart leapt in fear. ‘You can’t force me to sign over my company to you.’

      ‘Susan

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