The Collector's Edition Volume 1 (30 page)

N
O WONDER
Evan was overweight, Michael reflected, idly watching him heap strawberry conserve onto his third piece of toast. This followed a cooked breakfast comprising eggs, bacon, grilled tomato and hash browns, which had been preceded by a bowl of muesli heaped with dried fruit. However, it could be argued that Evan would burn up a lot of energy today with the list of interviews Lauren had lined up for him.

She hadn’t come down to the restaurant for breakfast. Not yet, anyway. Michael checked his watch. Evan was to meet her in the foyer at nine-thirty. It was now eight twenty-six. Still time for her to appear. On the other hand, perhaps she preferred to eat in her room. Or was she deliberately avoiding him?

“We’ve plenty of time, haven’t we?” Evan asked.

“Yes. I think I might have some cheese with my coffee.”

Michael stood up to go to the continental breakfast smorgasbord. The glass frontage of the restaurant faced the reception area. He caught sight of Lauren hurrying down the half flight of steps from the foyer. In the few seconds it took her to race through reception to the elevators, Michael was struck by far more than the unexpectedness of
seeing her come from the direction of the entrance to the hotel.

Her hair was in wild disarray, ungroomed.

Her face was devoid of makeup, pale and shiny.

There was a grim line to her mouth, unhappy, strained.

The shadows he’d noticed under her eyes were more pronounced.

She wore exactly the same clothes she had worn yesterday.

The conclusion was obvious. She had stayed out all night and was just now returning to the hotel. Which was odd. Why take a room if she intended staying overnight with her family?

The elevator doors opened, and she disappeared from Michael’s view.

“What’s wrong?” Evan asked.

“Nothing.” He shrugged and smiled. “Thought I saw someone I knew.”

He moved off to the smorgasbord, cogitating on Lauren’s actions. It must have been an impulsive decision to sleep at her mother’s home. Otherwise she would have taken makeup and a change of clothes with her. She had looked tired yesterday. Tired and stressed. The blame for that probably rested with him.

Had she discussed him with her mother? If so, had she listened to advice that was positive or negative towards him? Pondering unknowns didn’t help. Today would tell him where he stood with her. He thought he’d made some headway in correcting her view of him in the taxi last night, but…

He remembered her clenched hands, the nail marks on her palms, the odd action of spreading her fingers and staring at them. He wished he could have seen what was going through her mind right then. The result had been closing him out again and no chance to recover what ground he’d made.

He cut himself a slice of King Island Brie, picked up a couple of crackers and returned to the table, fighting a sudden wave of depression with gritty determination. Whatever Lauren’s baggage was from her relationships with other men, it wasn’t going to apply to him. Somehow he’d make her see that.

“I am replete,” Evan declared, having polished off his toast. “Do you want me to make myself scarce if Lauren comes down?”

“I doubt she will.”

Evan grimaced. “Tasha and I thought you and Lauren had something really special going. Roxanne sure must have done a good slander job on you.”

He’d done himself more damage than his ex-wife had, but he preferred not to confess that to Evan. “My fault. I should have told Lauren about her,” he said briefly.

“Tricky business,” Evan sympathised. “You won’t get much chance to do any good today, Michael. We don’t even get time for lunch until after the pre-record session at Channel Ten. That’s scheduled to finish at three this afternoon.” He looked at the cheese. “You should have had a bigger breakfast.”

“I can always grab something. You’re doing the interviews, not me.”

“Well, if you’re counting on time alone with Lauren, forget it. If she’s not nursemaiding me through the technological wonders of live radio, she’s on her mobile phone, checking and rechecking the schedule with producers.”

Michael frowned. “Has she got an insecurity complex about her work?”

Evan laughed and shook his head. “It’s a real education seeing how the media work. Not much runs exactly to the minute, I can tell you. Something else comes up. Interviews get shuffled around. Lauren juggles things all day, shifting, compromising, doing deals. And keeps her temper, despite the frustration of hold-ups and changes she can’t predict. That woman has the patience and persistence of a saint.”

They were admirable qualities. Michael vowed to apply them in his pursuit of Lauren Magee. She liked her job. It deserved respect. It would certainly be self-defeating for him to get in the way of it.

“Thanks for the warning, Evan. I’ll keep out of her hair.”

Evan grinned. “Great hair.”

Michael smiled back. “Great lady.”

When Lauren joined them in the foyer at precisely nine-thirty, her appearance was immaculate and stunning. She had teamed a deep wheat-gold ribbed sweater with her black pants-suit, and added a jazzy silk scarf that was pure class. Subtle makeup around her eyes eliminated the shadows and accentuated
their vivid blue. Her lovely mouth was a glistening red, and her hair had obviously been subjected to a vigorous brushing. While the gleaming mass of curls and waves retained an untamed look, there were no tangles in sight.

“Good morning.” She gave them a bright smile. Overbright, Michael thought. “How was your dinner at Maxim’s last night?”

“Superb,” Evan answered. “Smoked trout, braised king prawns and a pear tart with caramel sauce. You should have been with us.”

She laughed. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Evan. Is Tasha all right?”

“Green with envy. She adores epicurean delights.”

“How was your night?” Michael asked.

“Oh, fine! It’s always nice to see the family. I miss not having them around me in Sydney.” Another overbright smile, not reaching her eyes. “If you’re ready, let’s get going.”

She wasn’t really with them, Michael thought. Something else on her mind. Not him. There was not the slightest sense of either positive or negative vibrations flowing towards him. She simply acknowledged and accepted his presence as an adjunct to Evan.

She took the front seat of the taxi. “The ABC Studios at Southbank,” she said to the driver. Then out came her mobile phone, and Lauren Magee was at work.

The day went precisely as Evan had outlined. At the ABC Studios he and Lauren disappeared into
special telephone booths that were built to contain only two people. These provided direct live-to-air links for interviews with radio presenters in Adelaide and Hobart. Michael drank coffee in the cafeteria, which overlooked the foyer from the first floor.

Indeed, every floor overlooked the foyer. Michael was reminded of the inside of a prison with rows of walkways running around banks of cells and the connecting flights of stairs, all open to view from the ground floor. It was quite interesting architecture. He had plenty of time to study it in detail.

When Evan and Lauren reappeared, it was in a rush to catch a taxi to the studio of a popular commercial radio station where Evan was to do a halfhour talk-back session. After that, it was a quick return to the ABC for an interview with a regional presenter, followed by another for a Melbourne station. Michael could, at least, listen in to these and comment on them, sharing in what was happening.

They raced from Southbank to South Yarra to the Channel Ten studio for the prerecord of a popular morning show. Evan went straight into make-up. Lauren disappeared to confer with the producer. They gathered in what was designated as the Green Room, where Evan was fitted with a microphone and tested for sound. The call came to go to the set. Michael and Lauren were invited to watch the action from behind the bank of cameras.

By this time Evan was in top form, relaxed, happy, striking up a good rapport with his host,
burbling on about his book in a highly entertaining fashion. Michael caught Lauren’s eye and grinned, delighted at his friend’s performance and automatically wanting to share his warm pleasure. Momentarily off guard, Lauren grinned back, her eyes dancing with his, and Michael felt his heart turn over. The special sense of intimacy between them was acute, if only briefly.

She returned her attention to the set, the grin quickly fading. Michael hoarded the moment, greatly encouraged. Whatever strain she had been under this morning seemed to have eased as the day wore on. She looked pensive, but not stressed. His laid-back attitude had definitely been the right one to adopt.

Evan’s segment ended and amidst a happy flow of congratulatory comments, they retired to the Green Room where his microphone was removed. Since they had two hours free before a telephone interview with a Perth radio station, Lauren suggested, with a good-humoured twinkle in her eyes, that they pass the time in a restaurant so that Evan wouldn’t die of hunger or thirst.

Below the television studio was a shopping mall, which led to a classy little restaurant facing onto Toorak Road. It was obvious that Lauren was familiar with the place, confidently choosing a table and summoning a waiter for menus and a wine list. It didn’t take long for them to decide on their orders. Then they sat back, relaxed and smiling at each other.

“No call from Tasha, so I guess everything’s fine with her,” Lauren remarked, her eyes on Evan. “Will you be driving home to the Blue Mountains when we land in Sydney tonight?”

“Sure will. I’ve got my car stashed at Michael’s place.”

“I could give you a lift home from the airport, Lauren,” Michael quickly offered.

She gave him a weighing look, which he held, careful to project no more than the warmth of friendship, yet his body tingled in a thrall of anticipation, his heart felt caught in a vice, and his mind burned with the need for her to open up to him again.
Another chance.
He willed the words at her with all the magnetic power he could muster.

“Thank you, but it’s more straightforward if I take a taxi,” she said, speaking a truth he could not argue against. It carried the underlying message that she was not ready to be alone with him.

“I presume Global pays for it,” he said, shrugging off his disappointment.

“Yes. Part of my travel budget.”

The waiter arrived with their drinks, a glass of white wine for Lauren, gin and tonics for Evan and Michael. Lauren lifted her glass in a toast.

“To one of the nicest authors I’ve ever had to deal with.”

Evan chuckled. “Have you had any nasty ones?”

“Mmm…let’s say difficult. Some expect too much. It’s impossible to drum up media interest if the book subject is perceived as—” she wriggled her fingers “—too deep or downbeat. Sex and
controversy are always welcome. So is entertainment.”

“What’s been your most memorable experience with an author?” Michael asked with interest.

She gave him a sharp look, realised he was not implying the kind of sexual encounters he had accused her of yesterday, then smiled reminiscently as she launched into a story about a group of highly eccentric artists whose work had been photographed and displayed in a glossy coffee-table book. They weren’t the authors of the book, but it had been decided they would provide colourful publicity for it. Extremely colourful, as it turned out.

Michael and Evan were laughing over one recounted incident when Lauren reached for her glass of wine and froze with her hand still outstretched and empty. The amusement that had lingered on her face was wiped out instantaneously. Her eyes widened, then seemed to dilate with.fear? Shock?

Michael swivelled to see what had caused the reaction. Her gaze was fastened on a man who had apparently just entered the restaurant. He stood near the doorway as he scanned the tables on the other side of the room to where they sat. Michael did a swift assessment. Tall, well-built, expensive suit, early thirties, soap-opera handsome. Glossy black curls added a little-boy appeal.

As his face slowly swung towards them—dark, deeply socketed eyes, strong aquiline nose—Michael was niggled by a sense of recognition. Yet he didn’t know the man, had certainly never met him. Perhaps an actor?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lauren’s outstretched hand curl convulsively into a fist. Tension vibrated from her. She snatched her hand down, hiding it in her lap. Nails digging into her palm, Michael thought, and was instantly reminded of last night in the taxi. He flicked his gaze to the man, who was now approaching their table, dark eyes glinting derisive triumph at Lauren. A connection clicked in Michael’s brain with explosive force.

The man in the blue sports car, peering past Lauren to see who was lucky enough to be with such a gorgeous redhead, idle curiosity, filling in the time until the traffic lights changed. That’s what Michael had thought. Two cars stopped adjacent to each other, a chance thing, meaning nothing, merely a speculative bit of imagination.

Wrong!

Big wrong!

The man had the eyes of a snake, and Lauren sat like a mesmerised mouse, letting him come at her.

Every nerve in Michael’s body snapped to red alert. His mind spun on all cylinders. Links formed with lightning speed. Lauren’s stress, strain, distancing herself from him, withdrawing to some untouchable place. all caused by this man.

A wave of primitive aggression rolled through Michael. Lauren Magee was
his
woman, and he’d fight anyone who tried to hurt her, frighten her, threaten her, distress her in any way whatsoever. If
this guy was looking for a confrontation, he’d get it. To Michael he represented one thing with absolute clarity.

The enemy.

“H
AVING
fun, Lauren?”

Wayne’s silky intonation promised the worst kind of trouble. Lauren barely repressed a shiver of apprehension. Her refusal to see or speak to him last night had obviously fuelled his determination to seek her out where she wouldn’t have the protection of her family. But she had Michael with her. Michael. Silly, desperate thought. She’d given him no reason to help her.

“I’m on a job, Wayne,” she said, striving for an air of calm control to cover the feeling of being hunted, trapped.

“But not exactly working at the present moment,” he rejoined smoothly.

“It’s a business lunch. And you’re intruding,” Lauren stated, a touch of belligerence creeping into her voice. Why, why, why did he have to persecute her like this?

“Oh, I don’t think your, uh, clients—” he swept an oily smile of appeal at Michael and Evan “—would mind if you joined me at another table for a little private conversation. I’m sure you gentlemen will agree a husband has some rights on his wife’s time.”

“
I
mind, Wayne,” Lauren snapped, infuriated by his glib and condescending way of taking over
and frightened that Evan and Michael might swallow the persuasive line. “And you are no longer my husband,” she added bitingly.

“Don’t be petty, darling,” he chided, again turning to her companions and begging their indulgence. “We have some making up to do.”

“It’s all been said and done,” Lauren insisted fiercely.

Wayne sighed in exasperation and shook his head at her as though she was being childishly wilful and difficult. “Don’t let’s make a public scene of it, Lauren.”

He reached down and grasped her left wrist, his fingers bruising in their intent to take and possess, his dark eyes blazing with the promise he would make one hell of a public scene if she didn’t give in. “Just come with me now and-”

“Let me go, Wayne,” she said, seething, hating his superior strength, hating his slick presentation of himself, refusing to play his game no matter what it cost her in the eyes of others.

Sheer malicious spite underpinned his words as he answered her. “You’re embarrassing your clients with your less than civil manner, Lauren.”

Heat scorched up her neck and stung her cheeks. He knew where to hurt. Her body first, her career.

“Not at all,” Michael broke in, his tone light and easy, eschewing any sense of tension whatsoever. “I’m not the least bit embarrassed. Are you embarrassed, Evan?”

Evan looked startled. “Well, uh…”

“Of course not.” Michael grinned at him.

“Soaking it all in for your next book, weren’t you?”

“Oh, yes.” Evan nodded earnestly. “Very interesting situation.”

“Quite a masterly piece of sly harassment,” Michael remarked, wagging a finger at Wayne. “You do it very well. But you picked the wrong marks with Evan and me. We have a very healthy respect for women’s rights.”

“Certainly do,” Evan said supportively, getting into the swing of the argument.

“Now be a good chap and release Lauren’s wrist,” Michael added. “She did ask you to let her go. And while you clearly haven’t ingested the idea of being a sensitive new age guy, let me assure you that physical force on a woman does you no credit whatsoever.”

“Quite so,” said Evan gravely. “No gentleman holds a lady against her will.”

Lauren sat in a stupor of amazement. She hadn’t expected Michael to come to her rescue. She had been an emotional mess all day, barely taking notice of him, continually keeping an eye out for Wayne, deeply oppressed by his having camped in his car outside her mother’s home all night.

Her brother had sneaked her out in his car this morning, bringing her to the Como Hotel, but she had known that evasive tactic might not be enough. Wayne had only to listen to the radio, pinpoint Evan as her client and ring in to the station to start trailing her movements.

His fingers tightened around her wrist. He’d found her, all right, and he was not about to let go. He leaned a fist on the table and gave Michael a venomous glare. “This is none of your business,” he hissed, aggression emanating from him in blatant intimidation.

“On the contrary. This is our business, and as Lauren pointed out, you’re intruding on it,” Michael retorted, completely unperturbed by Wayne’s manner. “In fact, we’d all appreciate it if you’d retire gracefully. Right now.”

“Yes. And take your hand off Lauren,” Evan chimed in with beetling disapproval.

“Fat chance! Stay out of my way,
gentlemen,
” Wayne jeered at them, then yanked Lauren out of her chair. “She’s coming with me.”

It happened so fast, Lauren was robbed of any initiative, either in protesting or resisting. Wayne hauled her towards the doorway to the street in such a powerful surge, her stumbling feet barely kept her upright. She was semiaware of startled patrons looking on in shock, raised voices, chairs tipping, but far more aware of the relentless grip on her wrist, the wild thumping of her heart and the panic screaming through her mind.

Everything seemed to blur. She heard a bellow of pain from Wayne. Her wrist was abruptly freed. She automatically hugged it close to her chest, nursing it protectively as she found her feet, straightened, caught her breath, tried to find her scattered wits. She was shaking uncontrollably.

A comforting arm circled her shoulders, hugging her to warm solidity. “It’s okay,” Evan soothed as she darted a panicky glance at him. “Best if we back off a bit and let Michael handle this.”

Michael! Her eyes belatedly focused on the formidable figure blocking Wayne’s route to the door. Gone was any pose of relaxed affability. The man confronting her ex-husband projected an air of lethal power and purpose.

He stood as tall, if not taller than Wayne, and there was a sense of tightly sprung readiness in his stance, suggestive of explosive force on a hairtrigger. His face was subtly altered, all hard planes and angles, any trace of softness eradicated. The silvery eyes gleamed like sharp and polished swords, aimed in direct and deadly challenge at her erstwhile assailant and abductor.

“You broke my arm!” Wayne accused him in bitter outrage.

Lauren flicked a startled glance at him. He was clutching an area close to his shoulder, and the arm hung limply at his side as though it had lost all strength. No wonder he had let her go, she thought, looking at his now flaccid fingers.

“Purely a paralysing blow,” Michael answered in cool dismissal.

“Got a black belt in karate,” Evan whispered in her ear.

“By all means get it X-rayed, but I think you’ll only suffer bruising,” Michael went on matter-offactly. “A just desert for what you did to Lauren’s wrist, wouldn’t you say?”

“Who the hell do you think you are, butting in to a private affair?” Wayne asked, almost choking in fury.

“Well, I’m beginning to see that my role in life is looking after Lauren whenever she needs or wants looking after.” Michael nodded pensively. “I’ve always had this rather primitive, protective streak in me, and Lauren certainly brings it out. Try to remember that, Wayne, because looking after Lauren has just become my number-one priority.”

They had the strangest effect, those words, acting like a sweet magic nectar filtering through Lauren. Her mind turned to a rosy mush. The need to be strong for herself and everyone else melted around the edges. Her steely sense of independence collapsed into soft, filmy femininity, and her heart suddenly felt as though it was floating in a warm sea of security.

“I should have known,” Wayne jeered. “You’ve got the hots for her. That’s what you’re protecting.”

It jolted Lauren out of her thrall of pleasure.

“Why don’t you just leave, Wayne, while you’ve still got a mouthful of teeth?” Michael invited, pointedly waving to the door and stepping aside to facilitate his exit.

“I’m on my way, sucker,” came the derisive acquiescence. He swaggered past Michael, then paused at the doorway to cast an insultingly lecherous look over Lauren. “She’s a hot little number, all right. Enjoy it while you can, buddy. Tomorrow she’ll be giving you the same big chill I got today.”

“You’re pushing it, Wayne,” Michael warned in a steely tone.

“Just doing you a favour, letting you know what to expect.” Wayne tossed the words at him in arrogant confidence. “It’s a game she plays, turn on, turn off. Easy for her in her job, with you fly-bynight authors providing a convenient turnover.”

The torpedoes of Wayne’s black jealousy zeroed in on Lauren’s heart and sank it. Never any trust for the person she was inside. Wayne had far less justification for painting the same picture Michael had painted of her in his frustration with her rejection. It was pure malevolence. Yet the reinforcement had to be a dead-set killer of any credibility and respect she’d earned with Michael Timberlane.

“Little mistake, Wayne. I’m not an author,” he said, but his face had tightened as though the hit had struck home. “I’m more an action man. Keep it in mind.”

Lauren felt sick.

“Well, she sure as hell wasn’t with you last night, action man,” Wayne mocked savagely. “She was in my bed. So remember that when you slide between her sheets tonight and think it’s going to last.”

On that wantonly destructive note Wayne made his exit.