'You underestimate my brilliance, infant.'
She closed her eyes and fantasised about wiping that irritatingly smug smile off his face. 'Don't call me that!'
'What, a term of endearment? And to think I thought you liked it.'
'You know I loathe it,' she contradicted him. 'That's why you do it.'
He gave her a sardonic look, his startling eyes as blue as a beneficent summer day and as sharp as jagged ice. 'Going back to my brilliance,' he said smoothly, and she wished fervently that she could penetrate that hateful composure.
Almost in flashback, a picture of him crouched with yells and smoke all around him, bullets singing through the air, recording the events going on around him economically but lucidly as if he weren't in danger of joining the reporter whose blood he was calmly staunching as he spoke, came into her mind. That had been Luke's first time in front of the camera rather than behind it, but not his last: the powers that be hadn't needed the public response to the incident to know a good thing when they saw it. After that Luke had been seen reporting from various trouble-spots scattered across the globe, but his first love had always been photography and he had never abandoned it.
It had been a job as a photographer on a daily newspaper that Luke had taken in preference to the job her father had offered him after university. When the opportunity had arisen, he had accepted the challenge of moving to the live medium, working for an independent new station. Her father, who had hated Luke's effortless progression, had found his anonymity behind the lens easier to bear than the public recognition that had come when he'd stepped to the other side of the camera. She had seen him accept congratulations of his famous relative with gritted teeth, knowing nothing would have pleased him more than if Luke had failed miserably in every venture he began. He had hardly been able to contain his fury when Luke had had a book of his stills published; not content to concentrate on one thing, he seemed to be able to shine in several skies at the same time. The political thrillers which followed had brought acclaim and monetary rewards as they'd lingered indecently long in the bestseller lists. Her father had simmered, and Emily had thought he had grown almost inured to Luke's ability to juggle several careers and give the impression that he was only using a small portion of his talent. She felt a mixture of envy and admiration, but at that moment she shared a portion of her parent's frustration. He was so impervious, it made her want to stamp her feet!
'I think you're inhuman,' she announced.
'It's rather perverse of you to attack me. . your saviour.' He raised one eyebrow as she choked. 'And hardly a word about pretty boy's infamy,' he remarked thoughtfully. 'As I've been trying to tell you, I am going up to my cottage in Scotland to do some work on my book.'
'I didn't know you had a cottage in Scotland,' she said, surprised.
'Why should you?' he said in a tone that made her flush. 'You can come with me.'
'Thanks but no, thanks,' she retorted without thought.
'I can see the brain is overloaded again,' he said sympathetically. 'You can disappear with me for a decent interval and then reappear having seen me for what I am, or whatever story you care to invent. I favour the wild passion which burnt fiercely but briefly, but I leave the details to you.'
'You do surprise me,' she said, bristling. 'Do I actually have any say in the matter? I don't like being organised, in fact I hate it,' she hissed from between clenched teeth. She had absolutely no intention of going further than the end of the drive in Luke's company. He had extracted her from the immediate situation—she just needed time to think. One thing she didn't need—in fact the very thought made her feel a surge of undiluted panic—was to spend any more time with Luke.
'I know you prefer to do the organising, but look where that's landed you. Bossy women are not universally admired.'
She drew herself up to her full height and eyed him balefully. 'I'm so sorry I'm not a feminine, fluttery female,' she intoned sarcastically. 'You sexist pig! I take it it's all right for you to order me around? I'm supposed to be meekly submissive.'
'Meekly submissive is not the way I'd have described you, Emily,' he said drily. 'I was just trying to drop a hint or two. You're not exactly subtle, are you? And as for my suggestion, it was just that. I don't care whether you take me up on it,' he announced negligently, as though he was beginning to be bored by the whole conversation. 'It seemed the logical step to take, and if you can type or file you might even be useful,' he added thoughtfully.
Not if I can help it, she thought bitterly. 'You'll be able to torment Father for a little longer—I expect that's the main appeal.'
Luke gave a sudden grin, devilish lights reflected in his eyes. 'I gather you have a few reasons to be less than happy with Daddy, Em. The thought had occurred to me that Charlie will be tormented by images of sordid goings-on in the heather.'