It had been an uneventful flight back from Paris early that morning, with very few people recognising the tall woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun at her nape, wearing the white business suit and white blouse beneath the jacket, as the glamorous model Divine. It was exactly the way she liked it to be.
She enjoyed her work; she had really meant it when she had told Reece Falcon that if she didn’t enjoy modelling any more then she wouldn’t be doing it. She was thrilled that so many people liked the way she looked, how clothes looked on her. But that was the professional side of her life, and as Divine she accepted that, but as Diana Lamb she liked to keep her life very private indeed.
But even if anyone had recognised her on the early flight this morning they had been too polite to bother her. No, her tension had reached a head-pounding pitch long before she even reached the airport. She hadn’t slept all night, had just been too tense, too haunted by memories, to be able even to think of relaxing enough to grab a few hours’ sleep. Reece Falcon’s presence in Paris had deeply disturbed her. As it was, she had packed and left the hotel long before she needed to, and had then sat around at the airport constantly looking over her shoulder in case Reece Falcon should already have realised she had gone and followed her there!
He hadn’t, of course, but by the time she boarded the aircraft bound for Heathrow her tension had been such that she had almost leapt out of her seat when the air hostess approached her quietly from behind and asked if she would like a drink!
Lying back in this bean-bag, her eyes closed, the coffee-mug now hanging limply from her fingers, she realised this was the first time she had relaxed in over twelve hours. Since that meeting with Reece Falcon. She could almost, almost…fall asleep…
The strident ringing of the doorbell did little more than elicit a heartfelt groan of protest; she was too exhausted at that moment to do more than that.
She knew who it was, of course. Christopher had wanted to be with her in Paris this last week, but his father had sent him off on business for him—deliberately, Diana now realised—to America. Diana had told him how busy she was going to be with the show—too busy to spend much time with him really, and so he had finally gone to America, protesting all the way, hence the arrival of those red roses from him every day they were apart. But Chris should have arrived back in England this morning too, and had no doubt come to see her now with the intention of repeating his marriage proposal.
In spite of herself, she actually liked Chris. She certainly hadn’t wanted to, having considered before she met him that as Reece Falcon’s only child he was as much the enemy as his father was. But Chris was nothing like Reece Falcon; he was very easygoing by nature, and, taking after his American-born mother in looks, tall and blond, with the physique of an athlete. Even so, Diana had no intention of marrying him…!
‘Keep my seat warm, Puddle,’ she sighed wearily as she got up to answer the second ring of the doorbell, the now bulging cat instantly taking her place on the warm cushion.
But the tired smile of welcome that curved her lips froze into something resembling a grimace as she opened the door to find it wasn’t Chris who stood there at all, but his father—Reece Falcon!
Silver eyes glittered with mocking satisfaction as he saw the stunned expression she was too tired to mask, his mouth twisting derisively. ‘Breakfast.’ He held up the brown paper carrier-bag he held in one arm. ‘I told you we would have breakfast together.’
And what he ‘told’ her he was going to do, he obviously did, Diana realised dazedly as he brushed past her into the flat, easily finding his way into her spacious kitchen—probably following the smell of coffee!—the sound of his whistling coming from there seconds later, accompanied by the rustling of the paper bag as he obviously unpacked its contents.
She had seriously underestimated him over this, Diana now realised. She had thought that, once he discovered she had left the hotel before his arrival, he might just follow her to the airport; it had never occurred to her that he would follow her back to London!
But it should have done, she now berated herself. Who better than she to know how arrogantly single-minded this man could be when he set his mind to it?
By the time she followed him into the kitchen he had unpacked croissants, pastries and fruit into bowls and on to plates—a traditional French breakfast, in fact! This man didn’t do anything by halves, Diana acknowledged; he had told her he would be joining her for breakfast, and a true continental breakfast it was going to be. It might almost have come from France itself. In fact—he might just have done exactly that. Chris had told her his father flew around the world in his own jet; there was no reason why he shouldn’t have brought breakfast back from Paris with him this morning!
‘Ah, coffee.’ He picked up the pot Diana had made only minutes earlier, pouring them both a fresh mugful. ‘It’s good,’ he told her appreciatively after the first sip.
Diana was still stunned into silence. This flat, with its simplicity of design, was her own private little haven. And this man had just invaded it without a qualm. Certainly without an invitation!
‘Drink up,’ he encouraged briskly as her mug of coffee remained untouched on the marble worktop. ‘And we’ll take the food through to the sitting-room.’ He easily balanced the plates in the expansive strength of his hands. ‘I had a brief glimpse of that room on the way in here; I’d like to have a closer look,’ he added almost to himself, striding out of the kitchen with sure steps.
Once again Diana followed him dazedly, feeling as if she were following in the wake of a tidal wave!
He was dressed totally in black today, in a loose short-sleeved shirt with black fitted trousers that drew attention to the lean length of his legs. He looked every one of his thirty-nine years, lines of experience beside his eyes and mouth, and yet at the same time he possessed a dangerous magnetism that made age irrelevant.
‘Puddle,’ Diana finally managed to say weakly as Reece put the laden plates down on the rug in front of the bean-bags.
He looked up at her with raised brows. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The cat,’ she explained a little impatiently, feeling as if she were being treated—and for the most part, acting, she freely admitted—like an idiot.
But once again his unexpected appearance had thrown her completely; it was the only excuse she could give herself for her lack of force, for allowing him to invade her home in the way he had. But her strength had always been of a different kind than force. It was only now, when faced with Reece Falcon himself, that she realised how ineffective that might be in dealing with him!
* * *
Gobsmacked.
Not very grammatical. Certainly not very delicately put. And it certainly wasn’t a turn of phrase Reece could ever remember using before. But it so perfectly described how the Divine Diana had looked when she first opened the door and found him standing on the other side of it!
And she wasn’t faring much better now either, burbling on about Puddle being the name of the cat that lay stretched out on one of the bean-bags. He didn’t get the relevance of the introduction of the cat into the conversation at all. Unless she thought perhaps he didn’t like them, or was allergic to them? As it happened he liked cats, approved of their detached independence from the people who thought they owned them; he respected their intelligence. He had never been able to appreciate hearing a woman being called a cat; he had never yet met any woman who portrayed anything like their majestic aloofness—not and actually meant it, that was!
And yet…
He studied Diana as she stood a short distance away from him. He knew a little more about her now, having called his assistant, Paul, once he had realised Diana had left Paris early this morning without seeing him, instructing the other man to have any information he could find concerning the model Divine available to him once he reached London. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it wouldn’t be; Paul was as efficient as he was highly paid, and only Reece knew he was the highest paid in the