Sandra Marton - No Need For Love

Her voice faded away, but not because of the sudden pressure of Grant’s hand on her waist. It was Magda who was responsible. Hannah stiffened as the chocolate-coloured eyes swept across her. She could feel the other woman taking inventory, dismissing the plain silk blouse, the grey blazer and skirt as beneath contempt, moving upwards to Hannah’s face, noting the simple fall of shining hair, the minimum of make-up, even the lack of jewellery.

A little smile settled on to the pouting crimson lips, and Magda Karolyi turned her back to Hannah in complete, unsubtle dismissal.

‘You naughty boy, Grant,’ she purred, ‘vy haven’t you telephoned? I’ve been in San Francisco two whole days, vaiting for your call.’

Hannah touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. ‘That’s what I was about to explain, Miss Karolyi.’ The blonde turned towards her with a look of sharp irritation. Hannah smiled and moved more closely into the curve of Grant’s arm. ‘It’s my fault Grant hasn’t called you.’ She gave him a sidelong glance from under her lashes. He was watching her closely, his face expressionless. ‘I’m his assistant, you see, and we’ve been so terribly involved. At the office, I mean. We never seem to find the time...’ She tilted her head so that her hair swung softly back from her face. ‘Isn’t that right, Grant?’

There was a moment of silence, and then Grant cleared his throat.

‘Hannah’s my paralegal, Magda.’

‘Yes,’ the blonde said coldly, ‘I’m sure she is.’

‘She does all the groundwork for the cases I handle. I—uh—I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

Magda Karolyi gave him a sharp look. ‘Is that so?’

Hannah leaned her head against Grant’s shoulder.

‘Well, I certainly try my best,’ she said sweetly.

Magda’s mouth narrowed into a tight line. ‘I bet you do,’ she said coldly. ‘It’s been good zeeing you again,

Grant. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see some other guests I must greet.’ Her eyes shifted to Hannah. ‘Miss Lewis.’

‘Miss Karolyi.’ Hannah smiled cheerfully. ‘It’s been—delightful.’

The woman’s nostrils flared. ‘Indeed,’ she said, then turned on her heel and stalked away. There was another silence, and then Grant began to laugh softly.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘that takes care of Magda.’

Hannah drew away from him. ‘I hope so.’

‘Damn, but I wish I could have recorded that. I thought you were going to feed me to the sharks and instead you put a knife right into Magda’s—’ he grinned ‘—heart.’

‘Her padded heart,’ she said coldly. ‘And I certainly didn’t do it for you.’

His smile faded as he looked at her. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I didn’t think you had.’

Hannah took a deep breath. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can try this little trick again. I’ll endure the rest of the evening because I said that I would, but when it ends, so does your right ever again to drag me into a scheme like this.’

A slow smile curved across Grant MacLean’s mouth. ‘Threats again, Miss Lewis?’

‘Statement, Mr MacLean. I don’t like being intimidated.’

‘And I,’ he said quietly, ‘don’t like being spoken to as if I were a schoolyard bully.’

Hannah looked at him. He was still smiling; she knew that to anyone in the crowded room it would look as if he was saying something pleasant, even intimate. But his eyes had gone dark and cool; there was a glint in their depths that sent a faint chill up her spine and she wished there were some way to back off without it looking as if she was backing down.

But there was none, and so she stood her ground and met those cold eyes.

‘Then don’t act like one,’ she said softly.

She heard the quick intake of his breath, saw the sudden way his mouth twisted—but then it was over, gone so quickly it might not have happened.

‘Grant,’ a deep male voice said happily, and within seconds they were enclosed in a group of laughing guests. There was a lot of hand-shaking and back-slapping.

‘This is Hannah Lewis,“ Grant said. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a little smile. ‘She insists that I introduce her as my legal assistant. Isn’t that right, Hannah?”

It was the sort of remark that made everyone laugh. It was also the sort of remark that intimated she was anything but his legal assistant. Still, he treated her with courtesy and propriety, enough so that she was convinced that she had got through the worst of the evening.

A little after nine, just as the tables were being cleared and the dance band was settling in, Grant made apologies for their early departure, drew back Hannah’s chair, and led her out of the hotel.

‘Aren’t we staying for the dancing?’ she said, before she could think. ‘I mean, won’t your friends think it strange that you left early?’

Grant barely glanced at her as he handed her into a taxi and climbed in after her.

‘It was a business evening, Miss Lewis, not a social one. I thought I explained that earlier.’

His voice was cold. Hannah risked a quick look at him as the cab pulled out from the kerb.

‘I only meant——’

‘Where do you live?’

She told him her address and he leaned forward and repeated it to the driver. Then he settled into the far corner of the seat, folded his arms across his chest, and clamped his lips together.

By the time they reached the three-storey town house in which her flat was located, an oppressive silence had settled between them. Hannah threw open the door and scrambled on to the pavement.

‘Goodnight,’ she said quickly, ‘I’ll see you in the——’ The door slammed shut behind her and a steely hand clamped around her arm. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. It was a stupid question. What he was doing was marching her swiftly to the house, then up the steps.

‘Your keys,’ he said sharply.

‘You don’t have to see me in,’ she said with sudden wariness.

‘Your keys, Miss Lewis.’

The frost in his voice made all the difference. It was clear he was not intent on anything but seeing her safely inside. Leaving a woman alone on the street at night, even at this hour and in this relatively quiet neighbourhood, was, apparently, not something Grant MacLean did—probably, she thought uncharitably, because he was afraid of the possible legal ramifications.

She snapped open her purse and dug out the keys. ‘Here,’ she said, just as coldly. The door swung open and she held out her hand. He ignored it.

‘What floor are you on?’

‘The third. But—’

He took her arm and ushered her to the curving staircase that led up into shadowy darkness. They climbed in silence; when they reached the top floor, Hannah was not foolish enough to try and send him on his way. He was going to see her to her door, that was obvious, and trying to stop him again would only let him emphasise which of them was in control.

So far, she seemed to be losing.

When they reached her door, she stopped and faced him.

‘My keys, please.’ He held them out, his smile as polite as hers. The keys dropped into her open palm. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Goodnight, Mr MacLean.’

‘Miss Lewis?’

She had just inserted her key in the lock when he spoke. What now? she thought irritably, and swung around to face him.

‘Mr MacLean,’ she said wearily, ‘it’s getting late. And——’

The words caught in her throat. He was smiling, but it was the kind of smile that made her wish desperately that she could flee inside and slam the door between them.

‘You’re a hell of a good legal assistant. But you’re a phoney when it comes to being a woman.’

She gasped, but it was too late. His arms went around her, he pushed her against the door, and his mouth came down hard on hers.

He had kissed her twice on this night, but not like this. No man should kiss a woman like this, Hannah thought desperately as she slammed her hands against his chest. This wasn’t a kiss, it was an exercise in control, brute masculine control, passionless and degrading. She whimpered and tried to twist her face from his, but it was impossible.

A shudder went through her, more of abhorrence at this invasion of her senses than of fear. It was as if he’d been waiting for that signal. He drew back instantly. When he spoke, his tone was frigid.

‘I just wanted to be certain there was no mistake about the language. You called me a bully earlier tonight, Hannah. Well, that’s the way a bully would behave.’

‘And what did you expect me to call you?’ Her voice shook as she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. ‘My date? My lover?’

‘Ah, Hannah, Hannah.’ He laughed. ‘If I were your lover, I’d kiss you goodnight properly.’ Before she could stop him, he plucked the glasses from her nose. ‘Like this,’ he whispered, and drew her to him.

His mouth caught hers with almost lazy insolence. Hannah tried to pull back, but he clasped her face in his hands and went on kissing her, slowly, gently, his mouth moving on hers, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones—and suddenly, with no warning at all, she felt warmth flood through her body.

The hands that had been pushing against his chest curled into the lapels of his jacket instead. A muted sound of male triumph growled from his throat and he caught her tightly to him, holding her and kissing her until the world had no meaning...

And then he put her from him. Hannah swayed unsteadily on her feet, stunned, trying to make sense out of what had happened. Their eyes met. For a heartbeat she thought he was as confused as she, but then he slipped the glasses back on her nose and she knew it hadn’t been confusion she’d seen at all but smug, patronising satisfaction.

‘Thank you for an interesting evening, Hannah.’ He started for the stairs, then turned back at the last moment. ‘Oh, by the way, it’s all right if you want to come in late tomorrow.’ He laughed softly. ‘Hell, after the hard work you’ve put in, you’re entitled to a good night’s sleep.’

And then he was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

HANNAH slipped into a black wool coat-dress, buttoned it, then strode to the mirror and looked at her reflection. Yes. It was perfect. The dress had been an extravagance, costly not because of its classic style but because of the perfection of its fabric and workmanship, bought on sale in a moment of weakness but never yet worn. She’d saved it for a special occasion—but who would have dreamed that that would be the day she left her job? .

Because that was what she would be doing today, she thought grimly as she slipped on black leather pumps. What choice did she have? There wasn’t a way in the world she could to go on working for Grant MacLean. She’d decided that within the first five minutes after he’d left last night.

What had taken a little longer was determining exactly how to quit. Her first instinct had been to just not show up in the morning, let him come to work and find himself without an assistant.

But that would have been a mistake. She was entitled to a decent reference after four years at Longworth, Hart, Holtz and MacLean. More than that, she’d be damned if she didn’t make her reasons for quitting absolutely clear. Otherwise, MacLean would make up a bunch of lies that would salve his monumental ego and leave her looking like a fool.

Hannah stared into the mirror. ‘I am resigning,’ she said in a clear voice, ‘because you, Mr MacLean, are an overbearing, arrogant male chauvinist. And—if they weren’t among the nicer creatures—I’d say “pig,” too.’