Hi I am an idiot because a step forward there for days, believe me.' 'Well, that's not a crime, is it?

her words slowly in icy mockery. 'And you, of course, have no idea what is wrong with him?' 'It's a virus of of laughter that made her give him flu when I get hold of him. Youi dear brother, Miss Marcell, is in a great deal of trouble, and if I find out that you are involved, as I suspect you are, you are going to wish you had never been born.' 'Who exactly are you?' She was beginning to feel weak at the knees. She had only returned from a month's holiday in Greece a few hours before, to find Tim firmly settled in her tiny flat, pleading that the big house he shared with three friends was being painted and the smell and commotion was making him more ill. She had beeii deeply shocked at the pale, sickly greyness of his skir and immediately fussed round him, promising he eouk stay until he was feeling better and she would sleep or the small sofabed at her.'Has Tim mentioned my name?' Had he mentioned the name! Cord Lachoni. The Bij White Chief. Known far and wide for his ruthless efficiency and cold-blooded business sense that hat brought him from 'Look, Mr Lachoni, you aren't going to believe this,' she began ou're right, I don't believe it,' he said crisply, moving to stand in front of her, where he towered over her slender frame. His height was terribly intimidating, six feet six at least, with the sleek, broad-shouldered body of a prime athlete honed to perfection. She could see that some women would find such powerful raw masculinity attractive, but the dark, rugged face held a touch of cruelty that chilled her blood. He was like one of the big cats, fascinating from a distance but in-timidatingly unnerving close to. 'Tim told bis head of department he was ill,' she repeated desperately as tiny shivers of fear sped down her spine. 'I'm sure he'll be back at work as soon as he can make it. Our uncle works here; he said to-' 'Do you think I am a complete fool?' There was just a glimmer of an accent on some of his words, an unusual pronunciation of certain letters that, along with the bronzed darkness of his skin, proclaimed he was not English. She tried desperately to remember everything Tim had mentioned about this man as she sat with a small plop on the hard surface of the desk. The hard grey gaze had her pinned like a butterfly on cardboard.