AN ADULT LOVE Sarah Holland There was only one way to cope -- leave And that's what Vicki had done when life with her family became too difficult. London had seemed like a haven. Until Scott Thornton turned up on her doorstep insisting that she visit her father in the hospital. Vicki was shocked. Even worse, she discovered, was how much Scott had taken over-her father's business, the family home-and now he wanted Vicki, too. Mickey dug her heels in, then. But Scott was just as determined to win the encounter. CHAPTER ONE THE noisy, crowded club echoed with the heavy thud of a bass guitar, and Vicky looked up once more from her table, disliking the act intensely. It could go on for another hour and still/not improve, she knew that without question. They were a bad group, with a bad set, and a truly appalling lead vocalist. What was more, they almost totally ruined the atmosphere of Chaingang's, the top London venue for new, unsigned acts. Normally Vicky would enjoy her evening here enormously, watching the bright young talent of London working against a backdrop of red-brick walls, stark wooden tables and chairs. Tonight she just felt bored and restless and fed up. 'Another drink?' Spike indicated her glass, one arched brow raised. Vicky shook her black head. 'I'd rather go, to be honest.' Her dark eyes slid around the club and she sighed. 'I think Jason picked a loser here. This band's never going to get anywhere.' 'I agree,' Spike said, nodding, and stood up. 'Come on. I'll drive you home.' They left the club, walking across cobbled alleys past the cool, dark waters of Camden Lock, and headed down towards the rabbit warren of backstreets behind the market. Vicky had been working for Timepiece Music for just over a year now, and part of her job was to attend gigs of unsigned bands in these London venues. She frequently went with Spike, who also worked for Timepiece, and although their reports were unofficial they were listened to with interest by their bosses, who were always on the lookout for fresh talent. Spike unlocked the car, his tall, slim body striking in the semi-darkness. He looked a little like a borzoi, with his long, silky blond hair, long, thin nose and nervous movements. 'Had a phone call from my parents today,' he said as they drove home together. 'They went on at me to get a proper job and leave the music business alone.' Vicky smiled. 'Parents!' Her voice attempted camaraderie, but it was only an act. Her mother had died when she was six years old, but her relationship with her father had been a disaster. She hadn't spoken to him for five years. 'They're acting in my best interests,' Spike said wryly, 'or so they keep telling me.' "The usual propaganda,' Vicky said, and that was no act. Her father had spent years dominating her life, pressuring her with outbursts of frightening rage, trying to squeeze her into a box marked 'perfect daughter'. She had tried very hard to live up to his expectations. But when the box eventually grew too suffocating she had smashed it to pieces and walked away without a backward glance. 'Girlfriends were mentioned, of course,' Spike said. 'Of course,' Vicky said vaguely, looking out at London, glad of its anonymity, its facelessness, its freedom. No boxes for her to squeeze into here. No unrelenting pressure to make her perfect. Here, she could just hide away from all of that, take jobs when she wanted them, and live as though she weren't a Foxdale of Challarran. 'They want to meet you,' Spike said, and his voice broke into her thoughts. 'I don't suppose you'd be interested in Sunday lunch in Hampshire this weekend?' She turned, studying him with dark eyes. The wind whipped her black hair against her white face, the open window letting in the cold, making her pull the scarlet coat around her white throat. Spike glanced at her. 'No?' She bit her lip. 'Well... I thought we'd agreed we were just friends, Spike?' He nodded. 'We had.' 'So this invitation doesn't mean anything?' Spike's thin mouth curved. 'It means I'd love to be invited in for coffee...' The car slowed outside her flat in the quiet tree-lined street, and Vicky watched him as he switched off the engine and turned to her. 'We've been seeing each other for six months, Vicky. Don't you think we should move away from first base?' She cleared her throat, smiling. 'What's first base?' she asked, keeping her voice light and casual. 'This,' Spike said. 'This endless social contact with very little physical contact, which in reality is no contact at all.' Vicky lowered her lashes. 'I see. You want to seduce me.' He laughed, thin brows rising. 'What an invitation!' Then he was opening his car door, stepping out, and Vicky bit her lip, realising he'd taken her light words too seriously. Now how was she going to get out of this? Following him up the path to the rambling Victorian house her flat was in, she racked her brains for a suitable put-down, but didn't have the heart to deliver it at the door. She'd have to explain once they were inside. He'd be humiliated if he realised she'd been teasing him. She opened the front door and stepped in, waiting while he came in too. 'I'll take some coffee,' she told him warily. 'You go in and sit down.' He caught her wrist, smiling. 'You don't seriously think I want any coffee, do you?' Vicky stiffened. 'Spike ...' 'Not with you here alone with me,' he said under his breath. 'Do you realise this is the first time we've been alone?' He drew her closer, eyes flickering over her white face. 'Isn't that incredible? How do you do it?' 'Do what?' she asked, puzzled, trying to think of a way to get out of his unwanted embrace without upsetting him. 'Keep all of us at a distance,' he said, his face buried in her dark hair, breathing in her scent, 'God, you smell gorgeous! Is that apple shampoo?' Vicky frowned, trying to draw away from him. 'What do you mean—all? Who is "all of us"?' He laughed, hands sliding on to her waist. 'All your escorts, Vicky. Me, Pete, Tony, Jeff—God knows how many more you've got stashed away. We're getting to the stage now where bets are being made to see which one of us you actually want!' His eyes danced at her and he added in what he presumably considered to be a sexy voice, 'I reckon I win hands down, because you spend more time with me than the others.' She stared at him, incredulous. 'But they're just friends!' It was like being slapped in the face, hearing all those unwanted truths pouring out of him. He couldn't be serious. They were just colleagues, just friends, and the other men he had guessed at so accurately were also just friends. Men who lived close by and were involved in the arts. Ted, whom she'd met at her art evening class, and Phil, who was in a local band. 'Come on, Vicky,' he said with sudden dry cynicism, 'you don't fool me.' The dark eyes flickered over her with a sexual appraisal she had never seen in him before. 'You're as sexy as hell! Look at the clothes you wear—miniskirts and high heels and tight sweaters. Any man with half an eye can see you need a man around you almost constantly. I certainly can!' 'No!' she heard herself say in shock. 'No . . . you're wrong. My clothes are what everyone's wearing. I just like to be in fashion...' She stared down at herself, at the black polo-neck sweater, the black and white checked miniskirt and black high heels. His brows rose in disbelief. 'Liar! I know what you want.' And the next second she was being pushed roughly against the banisters, and his mouth was sliding over hers. Vicky stared at him, eyes wide, so stunned that she didn't move for a second. The kiss was passionate on his side. It was indifferent on hers. She stood passively, considering what on earth she could do, reeling under the weight of information he'd given her. The boys at work? Taking bets on her? It was like having her whole world ripped up in front of her eyes. They were just friends—weren't they? 'Oh, Vicky ...' he was saying under his breath as he grew more excited, unaware or uncaring that Vicky simply stood with her eyes open, unmoving. She felt his hand at her breast and gasped, jerking into action, pulling away. 'Don't!' she burst out. He stared, flushed, then his mouth tightened and he pulled her back roughly, making her cry out as her head hit the banister. 'Keep still,' he muttered. 'I'm sick of you teasing me! Do you think I can't see what you're doing? Walking the way you do? Showing yourself off? Telling me how good I look when we're out?' His hand was suddenly at her breast again, aggressive, hurting her deliberately. 'Either you're the nastiest little bitch I've ever met, or you want me to force you.' His mouth bruised hers in a punishing kiss as he whispered, ' Delighted, Vicky. Absolutely delighted.' 'Stop it!' She was struggling before she realised it, hitting him, a scuffle breaking out between them, silent and angry and growing dangerous as each wrestled with the realisation that a very big misunderstanding had been made on both sides. 'Spike! Don't!' Vicky gasped, half angry, half scared as he pinned her arms behind her back. 'You're hurting me!' 'Good! Women like you deserve to be --' The living-room door opened. Their flushed faces turned, one embarrassed, one breathing angrily. Vicky had expected to see Josephine. The shock of the tall, dark man looming in the doorway took her breath away. 'Leave the lady alone,' a biting voice from her childhood said. Vicky stared as Scott Thornton stepped forwards, out of the past and into the present, threat emanating from every line of that lean, hard body. His face was a threat in itself, carved from steel and razor-blades, grey eyes heavily lidded and cynical, his mouth a hard, uncompromising line. Spike stared too, his heartbeat unsteady. 'Who the hell are you?' 'I'm the man who's going to knock your teeth out,' Scott drawled with soft menace, legs apart in a gesture of masculine authority that sent a quiver of fear through Vicky, let alone Spike, who held his breath and looked at her, alarmed. 'Who is he?' Spike asked in a half-whisper. She was about to say in a rush that she hadn't seen him since she was six years old, that he'd been one of the most glamorous and exciting figures of her childhood, and that she had absolutely no idea what he was doing here. 'I'm her lover,' Scott said before she could speak. 'And I'm a very jealous man.' He was advancing slowly, grey eyes narrowed, and Spike released Vicky, backing, eyes wide. 'I like to pin her arms behind her back, too, but I only do it in the privacy of our bedroom, and then I do it three or four times a night.' Spike was fumbling for the door-handle. 'My mistake,' he blabbered. 'It won't happen a --' Scott's hand shot out around his throat, pinned him to the door. 'I'm a sadist,' he whispered on a deadly note of dark excitement, and smiled as Spike's eyes grew terrified. 'I like hurting people. It turns me on.' Spike was nodding, saying, 'Yes, yes, of course, I see, it won't happen again --' 'Good,' Scott purred, nodding, smiling like a madman. 'Good.' He opened the door with his other hand and manoeuvred Spike by the throat in one cold, clear movement on to the doorstep before slamming the door in his face. Vicky listened as Spike ran to his car, and her eyes met Scott's in grateful anger. 'I don't believe you did that.' Scott laughed, leaning on the door, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black trousers. 'Did you see his face!' The grey eyes glittered with wicked humour. 'Oh, God, if only it were on film!'