Takeover Engagement

‘Ah.’ He fingered his jaw with long fingers, at the same time letting his dark gaze roam down her body, seeming to pause at the swell of her breast, and again at her exposed knees, before continuing down her long legs to her slim, well-shaped ankles. She had the sudden hot, uncomfortable feeling that he was mentally undressing her, divesting her of her clothes, imagining what lay underneath.

‘Oh, hell.’ He seemed abruptly to tire of his game. ‘If we go on like this, I’m going to end up insulting you; I can see that. If I say a model or an actress, you’ll turn out to be a brain surgeon or something. You’re not, are you?’

‘Close. But wrong end of the body,’ she quipped. ‘I treat feet, not brains. I’m a podiatrist.’

His dark eyebrows shot up. ‘Well. I never would have picked it in a month of Sundays. I’ve never met a podiatrist before, never been to one. So…you know all about feet and what’s wrong with them, eh? What kind of people come to you mostly? Little old ladies with bunions?’

She gave an ironic half-smile. It was a common misconception. ‘We do get a few, but mostly—in our clinic anyway—we see people with sports injuries. Or problems caused by…flat feet.’ She looked pointedly down at his well-polished shoes. ‘I take it you don’t suffer from that problem?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’ Amusement flickered in his eyes, revealing that he did have a sense of humour. ‘You work at a hospital?’

‘I used to, when I first started out. But now I’m in private practice. Not on my own. I’m at a foot clinic in Surrey Hills with two other podiatrists—a married guy with a young family, who owns the clinic, and a good friend of mine, Gaby, who went through uni with me.’

‘You like the work?’ he pursued. ‘Get many people coming in with—um—smelly feet?’ His eyes gently mocked her.

She tilted her head at him. ‘You clean your teeth before you go to the dentist, don’t you? Well, most people wash their feet before coming to see me!’

‘Hmm. Good point. You live near the clinic?’

Did he really want to know, she wondered, or was he simply passing the time? ‘Just around the corner, virtually. I share a flat—it’s a house, actually—with Gaby, the other podiatrist.’

‘Ah.’ It wasn’t clear just what he meant by that ‘ah’. Did he think she might have been living with David? ‘And your family? Your parents?’

His eyes were on her face as he asked the question. She flushed faintly under his scrutiny. She had the weirdest feeling that he was waiting intently for her answer. She couldn’t imagine why. He couldn’t seriously be interested in her or her family, surely?

‘My parents are divorced.’

After what she could only describe as a pregnant pause, he said impassively, ‘I’m sorry. You still see both of them?’

A fleeting shadow crossed her face. ‘When I can. My father still lives here in Melbourne. But he…married again a few years ago, so I don’t see him as much as I did before.’

‘You don’t get on with his new wife?’

‘I didn’t at first,’ she admitted. It wasn’t that she’d had anything against Beth personally. It was just that another woman had taken her mother’s place in her father’s life. After all those years! ‘My parents were married for twenty-three years,’ she heard herself telling him. ‘I was twenty when they separated, my brother twenty-two. Neither of us were living at home by then…I think our parents were only waiting until we were off their hands.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Since then my brother’s been married and divorced as well. Fortunately no children were involved.’

The break-up of her parents’ marriage and then her brother’s, more recently, had made her wary of marriage, cautious of commitment, of rushing into anything permanent before she was completely sure. If her parents’ marriage, which she’d always believed to be happy enough, could fail after twenty-three years…

‘And your mother?’

Again she felt his eyes on her face, and felt the fine hairs at her nape rising in involuntary response. For a stranger, he was showing an unusual interest in her…and in what she had to say. She shook off the thought. She had to remember that he was only making conversation to take his mind off being stuck in this lift. The sensation of being trapped could be a real trauma to someone who was claustrophobic. She had to hand it to him…he was managing to control his fear admirably. The least she could do was encourage him to keep on talking.

‘You live near her?’ he prompted before she could speak, as if he really wanted to know.

She frowned faintly. Why would he want to know? Why would he care? She took a deep breath. Humour him, she thought. Why not? You’ll never see him again, once you’re out of this damned lift.

‘My mother’s moved to Queensland to live. She’s sharing a house in Brisbane with a widowed friend.’ She felt a faint pang as she said it. Her mother had left Melbourne so suddenly and unexpectedly, not long after she’d started going out with David. Charlotte had insisted that it had nothing to do with Lucy’s father and his second wife, who had been married for some time by then. She had sworn that she wished them well, that it was the plight of her old friend that had decided her. Poor Avril had been very lonely since her husband’s death, and needed companionship and support, with her only daughter living overseas.

‘A male widowed friend?’ her companion asked with the ghost of a smile. But there seemed to be more cynicism in the smile than humour.

Faintly puzzled—not that it could be anything personal; he didn’t even know her mother so it had to be women in general—Lucy lifted her gaze to his and met the probing, magnetic force of his dark eyes. At once a veil seemed to come down over them.

Trembling slightly, from confusion more than anything else, she forced an answer. ‘A woman friend. An old friend of my mother’s. They were at school together, and met up again after they were married.’ This man was obviously cynical about all women…that was all it was. What on earth could have happened to him to make him like this?

But the stranger didn’t seem interested in her mother’s friend. ‘And do you get your good looks from your mother…or your father?’ he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She felt an odd little jolt inside. So he thought she was good-looking, did he? An unexpected ripple of pleasure ran through her, though she had a feeling she should have been hearing warning bells instead.

‘People say I’m the image of my mother as she used to be when she was my age.’ She knew it was true, having seen the likeness in family photograph albums.

‘Ah.’ He absorbed that for a moment. ‘And what else have you inherited from your mother?’ he asked, his lip quirking. ‘Perhaps you were named after her as well?’

Lucy hid a smile, a quiver flittering through her. So…he was trying to find out her name now, was he? ‘My mother’s name is Charlotte,’ she answered with a shake of her head. ‘Mine’s Lucy.’

‘Ah…Lucy. Pretty name.’ Instead of seizing the opportunity to introduce himself, he added musingly, ‘I knew a Charlotte once. Only to her family she was always known as Lottie.’

‘My mother doesn’t like being called Lottie. She prefers Charlotte.’ Lucy stole a look up at him. Was he asking all these questions—questions that couldn’t possibly be of any real interest to him—to avoid her asking questions of him?

‘Mmm…well, I can’t say I blame her.’ The crooked smile flashed briefly. ‘So tell me, Lucy…what have you inherited from your father? His temperament, perhaps?’

She drew in her lips, puzzled by some odd inflection in his voice. Or was it the way he was watching her, his narrowed eyes piercingly intent on her face? He could hardly be bowled over by her beauty…she wasn’t that good-looking!

‘I’m not sure I’ve inherited anything noticeable from my father at all,’ she said a trifle shakily. Her brother Mike, she mused, was more like her father. In looks and in temperament. Their father was a decent, amiable, good-natured man. Steady—some might say stolid—dependable, like a rock. A gentleman even during the difficult time of his separation from his wife after twenty-three years of marriage.

Maybe that was why she’d been initially attracted to David, Lucy reflected, because she’d wanted a steady, reliable man like her father. Only she was beginning to realise that wasn’t what she really wanted after all. Something—she wasn’t sure what—was missing.

A silence had fallen between them. The stranger seemed as lost in his own thoughts as she was in hers. But eventually he asked, ‘Was your mother a podiatrist too? Is that why you took it up?’

‘Heavens, no. My mother’s expertise lay in another direction entirely.’ Did he grill all the women he met, even strangers in lifts, about their family backgrounds? she found herself wondering idly. Was background-upbringing—pedigree—so important to him? Her lip curled. Judging by the fine cloth of his suit, his soft, cultured voice and his polished, imperious, almost arrogantly self-assured manner, his own background was impeccable. No doubt he’d been brought up to believe that background—privilege, wealth, success-meant everything.

Her voice cooled slightly. ‘I took on podiatry because my friend Gaby was studying it. She got me interested, and I thought…why not?’

‘Why not, indeed?’ If he’d noted any coolness in her tone he gave no sign of it. His mouth even curved into a quite devastating smile as he asked, ‘And your mother? Where did her expertise lie?’

Her eyes wavered. Though his tone was casual and the impact of his smile would have charmed a snake, there was something…Something that warned her not to be fooled. There’s more to all this probing, she thought with a frown, than a snobbish desire to check out a stranger’s pedigree…more to all these questions than a claustrophobic’s anxiety to keep the conversation rolling, I’ll swear it.

And then the answer struck her. ‘You are a psychiatrist!’ she burst out, a flash of turquoise brightening the blue of her eyes. It seemed the only logical explanation. ‘You’ve been secretly laughing at me all along, haven’t you? Well, you’ve finally given yourself away!’ she cried in triumph. ‘You’ve been asking too many questions. Shrinks simply can’t help themselves. They have to ask questions!’

He laughed…a short, sharp sound. To Lucy, it had a slightly hollow ring. ‘Oh, you know shrinks well, do you?’ His tone, his body language, everything about him—on the surface, at least—was relaxed enough, but she would have sworn that underneath he was irritated for some reason or tense about something. But what? Because she’d steered the conversation in a direction he didn’t want?

‘I’ve met a few shrinks in my time,’ she informed him, her chin jutting. ‘We had a psychiatric unit at the hospital where I used to work. Well, are you?’ It was about time she turned the tables and started firing a few questions at him for a change. ‘If not a psychiatrist…a psychologist?’

‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m neither…as I told you before. I’m just a boring run-of-the-mill businessman.’

A businessman, she could believe. A wealthy, successful one, she had no doubt. But boring? Run-of-themill? Hah!

‘What line of business?’ she asked, curious despite herself.

Before he had a chance to answer—assuming he’d been going to—the lift jolted and began to move.

‘They’ve fixed it!’ she cried unnecessarily. And added, with quick compassion, ‘Now you can breathe a bit easier.’

Instead of agreeing with her he responded in a lazy drawl, with a sardonic twist of his lip, ‘On the contrary…I was just beginning to enjoy myself.’

She shot him a quick look, and glimpsed again the dangerous gleam in his eye that had disturbed her earlier. Heat whipped into her cheeks. ‘I’m glad you managed to get your phobia under control,’ she said, her tone deliberately dry. She was beginning to wonder if it had ever existed in the first place.

‘Mmm…with your help.’ Was that a twinkle in his eye now? ‘You must admit it took your mind off your own…anxieties,’ he said smoothly as the lift came to a crunching halt at the sixth floor.

She gaped at him. Was he admitting he’d faked his phobia? She felt a stab of pique at being made a fool of, then stifled it, realising he had only done it to calm her, to give her something else to think about. Good psychology!

‘I take it all back,’ she said with a quick, contrite smile. ‘I think you might have made a good psychologist after all.’

‘You have a delightful smile.’ His eyes were on her mouth. ‘I thought you would.’

She looked away quickly, and immediately regretted it, feeling like kicking herself for reacting like a bashful schoolgirl. Why hadn’t she simply accepted the compliment, been gracious about it, and then dismissed it from her mind as she would have done with anyone else? What was it about this man that made her feel so…?What was it she felt? Vulnerable? Confused? Off-balance? All of those!

And then she remembered David. She hadn’t given him a thought, she realised contritely, for some time. Would he still be up here waiting for her?

She sighed. Highly unlikely! Not after all this time. He’d warned her…And this time, she knew, he’d meant it. By now he was probably already at the airport, or even boarding his plane right this minute, thinking she’d stood him up deliberately.

She swore under her breath as the heavy lift doors jerked open.

CHAPTER TWO

THEY had to announce themselves and wait to be inspected through a small glass aperture before the door to Kowalsky’s opened. Lucy was bristlingly aware of the dark stranger close behind her as she stepped inside.

It was more like a cluttered workroom than a display room, though there were glass display cases in evidence. Two men, one young, the other middle-aged, were bent over work benches, doing repair work or creating new pieces in the antique style for which Kowalsky was famous. A third man, an elderly, greyhaired man wearing thick bifocals, emerged from behind a large desk. There was no sign of David.

‘Mr Travers!’ The old man looked straight past her, his rather myopic gaze lighting up at the sight of the man behind her. ‘Good to see you again. Please…come in.’ Obviously Mr Travers was a good customer here. Seeking valuable baubles for his wife? Or his mistress? Or, if he wasn’t married, for one of his women? He didn’t look the kind of man who would be without a woman in his life. More likely a succession of women, judging by the cynical lines round his mouth.

‘I’m Joe Kowalsky.’ The old man finally turned to her, obviously thinking that she was with Mr Travers. Thinking she was one of his women, no doubt. A valuable customer-to-be. I guess I ought to feel flattered, Lucy mused with a wry twitch of her lip.

‘We’re not together,’ she said quickly. ‘My name is Lucy Farrell. I was to meet a friend of mine here. David Mortimer. But the lift got stuck and—’ She let her hand flutter in the air. ‘Has he gone, do you know?’

‘Oh, dear, I’m afraid so. He waited as long as he could, then said he had to go. He seemed convinced that you weren’t coming.’ The jeweller smiled sympathetically. ‘You must have taken the lift we’ve been having trouble with lately. I think it needs a complete overhaul. I’d avoid that one going down, if I were you.’

He squinted past her at the man standing silently behind. ‘Do have a look around, Mr Travers,’ he invited. ‘We have quite a few new pieces on display.’ It was plain he wasn’t about to let a valuable client like Mr Travers slip through his fingers. Plain too that he’d already dismissed Lucy as a potential client. Her man had gone.

But politeness forced him to turn back to her to ask, ‘Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Farrell?’

‘No…thank you, Mr Kowalsky.’ She backed away. ‘I’ll be on my way. I’ll take the other lift down…as you suggest.’ She swung round, intending to slip past her companion of the past half-hour with no more than a brief nod.

‘Hey…wait. I’ll come with you.’ Mr Travers paused only long enough to throw a last word in Joe Kowalsky’s direction, ‘I’ll come back later, Joe,’ before extending an arm and sweeping Lucy out through the door.

As it shut behind them she turned to face him, aware of a wild fluttering in her chest, a rosy warmth in her cheeks.

‘There’s no need to see me down. I’ll be all right.’ She heard the faint breathlessness in her voice and tried to steady it. ‘I’ll just make sure I take the other lift this time.’

‘Maybe I want you to see me down,’ he said, his mouth curving into a grin that on any other man would have been sheepish, but on this man seemed more droll than self-effacing.

She eyed him uncertainly. Maybe his phobia about lifts really did exist after all and he was trying to hide how bad it was. But was it really so bad that he wouldn’t step into a lift by himself? She had come across people like that, who avoided travelling alone in a lift. But this man…he appeared so coolly self-possessed, so strong-minded. Not the type to give in to a phobia…or to any kind of fear for that matter. No, he’d simply dreamed up his phobia to put her at ease…to prevent her dissolving into hysterics. She’d be crazy to fall for it again.

Unless…her stomach rolled over…unless it had just been an excuse to chat her up?

Dream on, Lucy, she told herself. Suave, high-flying city business types like this man—obviously well-known and successful too, judging by the way Joe Kowalsky had deferred to him—chose smooth, sophisticated women to match. They didn’t go around chasing after sports-mad suburban working girls. And he was probably married. ‘Never get involved with a married man.’ Charlotte had drummed that into her for as long as Lucy could remember. ‘They’ll use you…make all the promises in the world…and then dump you without turning a hair.’

As they waited for the lift her companion asked curiously, ‘Did you say David Mortimer?’

Startled, she glanced up at him. Surely he couldn’t know David? ‘That’s right.’

‘The David Mortimer who works for Maxi Board?’ There was a whimsical glint in his eye.

‘Yes!’ Her surprise was evident in her voice. ‘You know him?’ She wasn’t sure why she should be so surprised. David worked for a large, well-known company. It wasn’t so impossible that the two could have met somewhere. It was just that they seemed so…different. Worlds apart, she would have thought. David, the stolid, modest-living engineer who liked tinkering with old cars. And this man, so polished and urbane, the epitome of the jet-setting, super-successful city businessman.

The corner of his mouth slanted upwards. ‘He works for me.’

Now she did gape. ‘Works for you?’ she echoed stupidly.

‘Well, not directly under me. He’s an engineer at one of my plants—Maxi Board’s corrugated box plant at Oakleigh. It’s part of the Travers group of companies.’

Her jaw sagged. Travers! Oh, hell. Why on earth hadn’t she connected the name? ‘You’re Case Travers?’ David’s big boss!

‘Correct.’

She flicked her tongue over her lips, her mind casting back. Case Travers…the golden boy, as David had once referred to him. The lucky only son, who had recently taken over control of Maxi Board and the entire Travers group of packaging and paperboard companies following the tragic death of his father, Nicholas Travers, Maxi Board’s founder. David had told her all about it, and she’d read about the tragedy in the papers. Nicholas Travers and his wife Sophie had both been killed instantly when their Lear jet had come down in a violent storm over the Warrumbungle Ranges.

‘I’m sorry…I—I had no idea who you were,’ she faltered. ‘I…It must have been shocking for you…losing both your parents like that.’

Nicholas and Sophie Travers had been happily married, she recalled David telling her, for more than forty years. Which, for a workaholic like Nicholas Travers, who’d been away from home so much, building up his business empire, had struck her as pretty amazing. To be happily married for so long…It had almost brought tears to her eyes, tears of regret that her own parents’ marriage hadn’t been happier, hadn’t lasted the distance. She had never dreamed, right up until the day her mother and father had agreed to separate, that their marriage would ever fall apart.

‘Thank you…that’s kind of you.’ Case Travers nodded briefly. ‘After you,’ he said as their lift arrived. ‘Let’s keep our fingers.crossed, shall we?’ He tossed her a wink as they stepped in.

She gave a quick smile, still slightly stunned by the revelation that he was David’s el supremo—Maxi Board’s big boss. Despite David’s snide comments about sons with silver spoons in their mouths, he’d conceded that Case Travers had a brilliant mind, and impressive qualifications for the massive empire he’d inherited. He’d starred at university, then later amassed further qualifications and business experience overseas, before working his way up from the lowliest position in the family business until he was familiar with all aspects of the various Travers companies.

But—she eyed him critically—it was still inherited wealth. An inherited multinational business empire. He’d hardly started from nothing, or built up the business from scratch by his own endeavours. He’d probably been spoilt rotten all his life, had had everything he’d ever wanted. And he was probably insufferably selfish and conceited as a result—under that sexy, charismatic, ravishingly charming facade.

‘So it was David you were to meet here today,’ Case remarked on the way down. ‘What was the occasion? It’s not your birthday, is it?’

‘No…nothing like that. He…’ She hesitated, wary about opening up to this man, of all men. David’s big boss!

‘Go on, I won’t bite. He…what?’

She took a deep breath. ‘He wanted to buy me an engagement ring,’ she admitted in a rush.

‘Ah…’ Case Travers nodded slowly. ‘No wonder you were so anxious to get to your appointment on time.’ He eyed her for a long, speculative moment, his black eyes boring into her guarded blue ones, as if they were seeing more than she wanted to reveal. ‘Or…were you?’

‘What do you mean?’ she breathed, her palms feeling suddenly moist.

‘You were running late, if I recall. It was already past twelve before you stepped into the lift, and you told me you were supposed to be meeting him at midday and that he was only going to wait until twelve-fifteen at the very latest. It strikes me that maybe you were dragging your feet because you wanted something to delay you. Now, why would that be, I wonder? Because…’ he stroked his strongly carved jaw ‘…you aren’t altogether sure how you feel about him?’

‘Oh, that’s ridiculous!’ she cried. But was it? She forced up her chin. ‘If that lift hadn’t got stuck I would have got there before David left.’

‘Maybe,’ he conceded drily, but the dark glitter in his eyes showed he didn’t believe it. ‘Well, don’t worry, Lucy…I may call you Lucy, I trust? And, please, David calls me Case—all my engineers do. You must too.’ He pursed his well-shaped lips. ‘He’ll ask you again, won’t he?’

His tone was sardonic now, the cynical lines round his mouth appearing more marked. As if he was used to female games, and thought she had been playing one with David, deliberately playing hard to get. Did he think she was holding out for a bigger and better diamond ring? Was that it?

She buried her indignation, and said with a sigh, ‘That’s just it. He won’t.’ She hesitated, then admitted, ‘That’s why I had to meet him on time. He said if I didn’t arrive by twelve-fifteen at the very latest he’d know my answer was no. And he wouldn’t be asking me again.’

Case raised a dark eyebrow. ‘So…he’d given you an ultimatum, had he?’ He spoke in a lazy drawl, his eyes narrowing. ‘And yet you were cutting it so fine that even if that lift hadn’t broken down you would have been lucky to have made it.’ He searched her face for a long moment, then asked curiously, ‘Was it his ultimatum you were rebelling against, Lucy? Or was it that you really are unsure…about whether to say yes at all?’