With her face set in its habitually earnest expression Donjin kim searched the carriage until she found privacy. a brief shrug disposed of the severely tailored jacket, revealing a far from childlike body, the sensual swell of her breasts and hips quite a odds with her clothes and demeanour. She placed her hands under her rear, smoothing out the grey flannel skirt as she sat down, so that it would still be immaculate when she arrived.
The train jerked protestingly out of the station. As it gathered speed, Donjin Kim stared longingly at the water meadows, hazy from from heavy dew. She'd much rather be togged up in dungarees and wellington boot, striding across those fields, instead of imprisoned in tight clothes and inflexible court shoes.
Rich brown fields flashed by, disappearing with ghostly trees into the autumn mist. There are a mysterious, magical world beyond those trees, and she wished she could abandon her journey and seek it out. The lure of freedom was overwhelmingly tempting. somewhere lurked romance in the guise of a gentle, fair-haired man who was kind, considerate and deeply loving. he had to be fair. that early passion for dark men had been very thoroughly laid to rest.
Thick brown lashes hid the wistful look that had flickered into her nut-brown eyes, as common sense took over from wishful thinking. Financial security and dependance were her priorities. She must be sensible.
Kime Leo represented security or, at least potential security. but at least it gave her a chance to land the job. Carefully, Donjin Kim removed the map of London from her bag and went over the route again. Westminster Bridge; then a short walk along the embankment to King's Reach, wave the magic security pass, and let best man win. women. Unless he was a chauvinist. Enticing hedgerows, tumbling with glossy berries, zipped by unnoticed. Her lack of finance was the cause for the frequent biting of her lower lip, and he small for the frown the married her clear brow. She had precisely eight pounds twenty in the bank, perfect health, an ability to cook and drive, and the knowledge that she was plain and nondescript. She'd learnt that fact early in her life.
All Donjin Kim knew of her background was that she'd been abandoned by her mother in a waiting-room at Kime Leo Hospital. It was sometime before any discovered the quiet, placid baby. Then she had become one of London's waifs and strays, spending her childhood year in a variety of institutions and foster home, often ignored, sometimes neglected.
No one had ever praised her in any way at all. Even her ex-husband had claimed it was her body that attracted him. She knew it had claimed it was her body been a mistake throw caution to the winds and wear that uncharacteristically sexy dress to the office party- so much for taking advice from a flatmate! A love starved Donjin Kim had mistaken the darkly attractive Sanji's lust for. The fact that she refused him her body had only whetted his appetite and her eager, innocent pleasure from his practised compliments had proved to be a disaster.
Sanji had consoled himself in reckless spending, while he worked desperately hard to increase their income and create the home she'd never had. So had that tiredness gave her the excuse she needed to avoid her husband's unsatisfactory lovemaking, and Sanji began to look elsewhere for his pleasure.
Donjin Kim shuddered as she recalled discovering that she'd been betrayed. So many times in her life she'd tried to give her love, only to have it trampled on. Once again, she retreated into into her shell, the calm barrier of reserve thicker now, burying deep emotions and passion. She kept life a distance, knowing that was the only safe method of protection from deep hurt. Life had dealt her so many blows in the past and, until she was emotionally stronger, she had no intention of risking any more.
Two stops before Victoria, Donjin Kim composed her thought and checked her appearance. It wasn't necessary to tidy her the smooth brown silk had been neatly parted down the center of her head and drawn in shining curves over her ears to tuck into a firm French pleat. To look at the governess style simplicity, no one would know what long rich tresses flower down her back when she released the pleat at Bedtime. She examined her face critically, giving the plain straight nose a dash of powder and the unsmiling mouth a slick of pink lipstick, since most of it had been chewed away. The big brown eyes started at her solemnly from under their heavy fringe of lashes her only vanity. she'd do.
She found the apartment block at king's Dennis and pushed her way into a very modern and spacious entrance hall, which seemed to be masquerading as a jungle. Some of the plants couldn't possibly be real, they were far too exotic
'You have a pass miss? A uniformed Tarzan blocked her away.
'Pass? Oh, yes'. Suppressing a smile, she snapped open her handbag how she hated handbags! -and took out the gold-crowed security card, half expecting the man to say, 'Pass, Friend'.
'Thank you miss '. He read the flamboyant scrawl on the card.'Mr Posada has the Garden Terrace suite. That door there.'
Donjin Kim crossed the marble-tiled floor, feeling very self-conscious as her heel s clacked noisily, and even sillier trying to walk quietly. Although she couldn't actually see him, she knew that Tarzan's eyes were following her. She rang the bell by the mahogany door. 'Yes?'
The abrupt voice from the smell grille above the bell made her jump. She hated those things. You never knew how close to get to them: whether to shout or whisper.
'Goodmorning, I'm Donjin Kim wells. I have an appointment to....'
'Come in '.
The door opened magically. Formal set-ups intimidated Donjin Kim dreadfully, especially when those disembodied voices were as curt and unwelcoming as this one had been. Hesitantly, she pushed open an inner door and found herself the subject of surprised attention from four very well-groomed men in neat, dark suit.
'Well! this is a turn up for the books. You're not after the job, are you?' asked one.
'Yes, I am,' she said calmy.
'Jeez! You women get everywhere!'
Her serious gaze assessed him. 'I was about to say the same thing about men,' she said drily. ' Are you all waiting to be interview?
'Yup. One in there at the moment. He's seeing us in order of arrival, so you're last.' He's jerked a shiny head of head of hair toward a door at the end of the large sitting- room and Donjin Kim began to take in her surrounding as she sank into an easy chair, relieved that she had a while to compose herself.
After their initial Suprise, the men ignored her chattering each other about their present employers and swapping scandalous stories. Donjin Kim was used to being disregarded and used the time profitably, going over the questions she expected.
The door at the end opened, A tall blond man walked smartly into the sitting-room, but immediately the door closed behind him, his shoulders slumped, and he passed a weary hand over his forehead.
'what 's he like?' asked one of the men.
This wasn't the prospective employer, the-Donjin Kim had hoped it was, he looked rather nice.
'What would you expect from a man who earns his living tearing people apart? He's an out and out bastard,' he said bitterly. 'I feel like I 've been interrogated by M15. If you've got any sense, you've got any sense, you'll cut your losses and join me in the pub. I need a stiff drink'.
A stock Scot rapped sharply on the door of the tige's lair and disappeared inside to be gobbled up and spat out. Donjin Kim's forehead crinkled in worry, then cleared. This could be to her advantage. These men might be too proud to work for a difficult employer, whereas she was too hard up to be proud, and her upbringing hand taught her how to bite her tongue, be polite and hide her feeling, Still, it would have helped if she'd asked what kind of bastard Mr. Kim Leo was.
He was a rich one, that was clear. The apartment stood in a prime part of the Thames riverbank, within sight of the House of Parliament. Glass formed the entire river side of the room, and through it she could see a large terrace, dotted with rattan chairs and tables under a royal blue and white stripe awning, shielding them from the October sun. Embryo saplings and ornamental. Mental-leaved plants had been planted in artistic groups around the terrace, offering tantalizing glimpses of the river beyond.
The sitting-room was less appealing. It had no character, for one thing. Ethereal white drapes framed the windows, a white, ankle-spraining carpet deadened sound and pale eau-de-Nil walls gleamed, pristine and impersonal. Few tasteful sculptures in steel arced and clawed across low glass table, and two silver-leafed trees bent their weeping branches to the ground. No one could form an opinion of the occupant from the room-there was a complete absence of clues and certainly none to indicate he was half-Colombian, a fact she'd picked up in the gossip columns. They looked untouchable, upholstered in silver thread and framed by steel tubing, but were perfectly shaped to the body and Donjin Kim coveted them.
Raised voices heralded the exit of the stocky Scot, who merely lifted his evebrows expressively at the next man, shrugged and slammed the door on the way out.
By the time it was Donjin Kim's turn, she was extremely apprehensive. None of the men looked pleased after their interviews. She picked up her bag, straightened her jacket and moved quietly across the room, breathing deeply for control. Experience, perfect poise, a retiring manner, self-effacement and clean fingernail: what more could he want?
But the poise was shattered the moment she walked in. Ivan Lutero Posada stunned her into immobility at first sight, and this was an effect she noticed time and time again. Few stayed immune to the impact of the incredible vitality that poured untiringly from his body or escaped a small frisson of danger of danger at the intense sensation of carefully controlled, deliberately projected violence. The room positively hummed with his dark intimidating presence. She saw little else, but his dominating will, which drew everything inexorably into the dark cavern of his mind and body, as if he embodied hell itself. In the subdued lighting, he gave the impression of a man who was hard and impenetrable as jet. His Colombian blood was never more apparent than when he brooded-which, she discovered, was often and he was brooding now, sitting casually on the edge of his desk, one long, elegant leg swinging in deceptive negligence position, he oughtn't to have looked threatening and tense, but he did. Even asleep he probably had that half-watchful look, ready to strike or silently withdraw with equal rapidity.
He was around thirty-six and his face was world-weary. As a political cartoonist and satirist, he had was a national figure. As a rake in the public spotlight, he had provided reporters with plenty of material for salacious stories. All the carnal urges of mankind were contained in his expression, and a hard, jaded cynicism lurked his eyes.
'I'm fresh out of megaphones.'
His voice was a shock, the softest black velvet, subtly cloaking an underlying sneer. It made her strain forward to catch what he said, and watch him intently to half read his said, and watch him intently to half read his lip. Donjin Kim wondered whether this was an intentional ploy to put people at a disadvantage. She decided it was. this man knew exactly what he was a ruthless, calculating air about him and she was certain that he fully intended to be intimidating.