Dancing With The Devil's Heir

NOT again!

Vivienne's teeth clenched in sheer frustration as she stared at the sheaf of red roses in the delivery boy's arms. She knew, without having to count them, that there would be twenty-three this time.

'Miss Vivienne Carter?'

'Yes,' she bit out, unable to respond to the fatuous grin on the boy's face. She inwardly winced over the curtness of her acknowledgement as his grin disappeared. The boy was only doing a job. He wasn't to know that the beautiful blooms gave her more torment than pleasure. She offered an appeasing smile as he gravely handed her the roses and the gold-embossed envelope-sealed, as it had been every year, with wax.

Vivienne didn't bother to ask who was the donor. She had pursued that track three years ago and the florist knew no more about the mystery man than she did. The envelope was sent with a typed note of instructions and a bank cheque-untraceable. She dragged her gaze up from the wax seal and caught the sparkle of suppressed laughter in the delivery boy's eyes. 'Thank you,' she said with almost frigid dignity, instantly realising that the curious once-a-year incident was probably a source of amusing gossip at the florist shop.

Being Sir Gabriel Carter's illegitimate daughter carried enough notoriety. Her stupid and indiscreet attempt to identify the sender had almost certainly turned a routine transaction into a memorable one.

The delivery boy gave her a whimsical--or was it a mocking?--half-bow, and retreated towards the lifts. Vivienne grimaced at his swaggering back. Only after he had gone did she step back into her apartment and slam the door shut, giving vent to some of her bitter frustration.

This was the sixth time. She almost hated the man who was doing it to her, whoever he was. The roses she could have dismissed. Anyone could be sending her roses on her birthday, one for each year of her age since she had turned nineteen-if only the gold-embossed envelope did not come with them.

What he was doing to her-what he had done to her--with his tantalising messages was diabolical. They had completely undermined her relationships with Dante and Rob and Farrell; made her wonder about every other man who had apparently been attracted to her... whether it was for her own self, or because of their potential prospects as Sir Gabriel Carter's future son-in-law. Even if she was illegitimate, it seemed that any foot inside her father's door would do.

Vivienne had suffered too many lessons in life to accept much at face value any more. But this insidious siege on her heart and mind... why didn't he make himself known to her? Why taunt her with words of love if he had no intention of meeting her... openly declaring what he secretly and mysteriously professed?

It was madness! Mean...eccentric...selfish...and positively infuriating. Perhaps he was psychotic!

The thought had crossed Vivienne's mind before. She pondered it again as she filled a vase with water and jammed the roses into it; roses so darkly red they were almost purple, and so deeply scented they were an invasion of her privacy, the aroma quickly stealing to every recess of the spacious apartment.

Not psychotic, she decided. At the hospital where she had been working she had dealt with people who were mentally unbalanced. The game this man was playing was too patterned, too deliberately paced to have been conceived by a sick mind. This was someone diabolically clever... ruthlessly determined to infiltrate and influence her life... and acting out of purposeful self-interest.

Undoubtedly a fortune-hunter.

Possibly trying to climb on to some non-existent bandwagon. When he did declare himself, as he obviously must, she would know how to deal with him!

Vivienne swept up the vase of roses and dumped it on to the centre of the white stone coffee-table in the living-room. They looked sumptuous... wrong... out of place with the light modern decor.

Her eyes skated over the white leather sofas and floppy cushions-the choice of the interior decorator who had been hired by her father to furnish the apartment. Cold and clinical and emotionless, Vivienne thought. Just like her father.

She had always hated living here, hated the necessity of accepting this apartment from him until she finished her studies and could earn her own living. But it had been worth it to get her medical degree. That could never be taken away from her, and she would put it to good use. Better than any other use her father had for his money!

However, it was a matter of pride that when she handed this apartment back to her father-as she would do within a month or two, it would not have been changed in any way. He would get it back precisely as he had given it to her.

And wherever she went she would make herself a real home, a place that was cosy and welcoming, where roses could look right and...

Vivienne's fantasy came to a jolting halt. He was doing it to her again! She was letting his damned roses infiltrate her mind, making her think of things she had never had, stirring needs...

She picked up the envelope, stared down at it, her fingers sliding indecisively over the wax seal. Better for her peace of mind if she refused to read what he had written.

She should toss the envelope away, burn it, deny him the insidious fascination he worked on her. It was the sensible thing to do.

But Vivienne had never backed away from a challenge in her life, even to the extent of defying her father... and she was fairly certain that no one else in the world had got away with that. She had been only twelve years old at the time and it had been her first meeting with him. Twelve lonely years of having her existence completely ignored, and then...

Her mouth thinned in determination. Her fierce independence had been hard won, and she would stand up to any man... or woman, if necessary. She was not going to let anyone intimidate her, particularly not a man who needed to keep to the shadows of anonymity.

Irritation coupled with his impertinence made her rip open the flap of the envelope with total disregard for the "pensiveness of the paper. She withdrew its contents with an angry sense of impatience...exactly the same style of card as on previous years...a shimmering gold... luminous red print in the beautifully flowing strokes of copperplate handwriting

Happy birthday

Vivienne-

my love.