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Threat From The Past. Diana Hamilton
Читать онлайн.Название Threat From The Past
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Автор произведения Diana Hamilton
Жанр Современные любовные романы
Издательство HarperCollins
‘Incredible.’ The single word hung sultrily on the still, apple-wood-scented air, and she moistened her lips, saw the way his own softened into shocking sensuality as his eyes followed the involuntary gesture, and fought to find the strength to defeat the bastard.
He moved further into the graceful room, his very presence an invasion, but she held her ground. He had to be shown that she wouldn’t back away and his single utterance had to refer to her earlier statement, and she reinforced tightly, ‘Incredible that you’ve been shown the door? You’d better believe it. You’re not welcome. There’s nothing for you here.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that.’ The deep, sexy voice, enriched by just a hint of amusement, enfolded her, compounding the unwelcome frisson of awareness that invaded her body as his eyes lingered once again on her mouth.
He was thirty-seven years old and, for the past twenty of them had obviously been fully aware of his effect on women, she reminded herself caustically. And, just as obviously, would have no hesitation about playing on the susceptibilities of the female sex when it suited him.
Well, she wasn’t an empty-headed bimbo and was taking his loaded comments at face value. And when he told her, ‘But I came to see Martin, initially, that is,’ she was able to inform him coolly,
‘He’s not here. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.’
‘I wouldn’t class meeting such a delectable virago as a waste of time.’ He had the audacity to grin at her, moving closer so that she could actually feel his body heat, could judge the space that separated them down to the last quivering centimetre, and she had to grit her teeth and force herself to stand her ground as he cupped her chin in one warm, dry hand, green eyes gleaming down into seething gold as he asked softly, ‘Now I wonder why the lady’s so uptight?’
He was using his blatant sex appeal to walk right over her and it was just too much! She despised him, doubly so, for that. And she jerked her head away, out of his hateful dominion, setting her glorious hair flying around her head and her eyes impaled him with the bitter strength of her enraged emotions as she spat out, ‘I would have thought that you, of all people, would know the answer to that!’ But she had promised herself she wouldn’t lose her temper and she tacked on, allowing an edge of ice to rim her voice, ‘As I’ve told you, my uncle’s not here. Please leave.’
‘I can wait.’ The infuriating, slight shrug of those wide shoulders beneath that expensive suiting flicked her on the raw, doubly so as he strode calmly over to one of the armchairs and sat down, his long legs stretched out in front of the blaze from the fire. The time had come for a little plain talking. She wouldn’t mince her words, but she wouldn’t lose her temper, either.
Following him, she planted herself firmly in front of him and said, on a controlled intake of air, ‘Martin won’t be back tonight. Probably not for days.’ And that much was the truth. But no way was she going to tell him why. If he knew where he was he’d be out of here like a shot, making his demands over a hospital bed!
‘Where is he?’ For the first time she began to see the man he really was. The teasing eyes were now as cold and still as glacial lakes, the formidable features unreadable, a mantle of power cloaking the superb male body with tensile strength. Whatever he wanted, whatever he had come for, it wouldn’t be peanuts.
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ she lied, her mouth lifting in a small, utterly insincere and worthless smile as she sank with unconscious elegance into the chair opposite the one he had taken.
‘I don’t believe you.’ His voice was a quiet, cool statement of fact and her eyes glinted at him across the dividing space. She didn’t care what he believed and felt a reckless excitement welling deep inside her because playing games with this devil could be dangerous.
‘Suit yourself. But you’re going to have a long, long wait.’
‘Again, you’re lying,’ he stated with smooth contempt, his words accompanied by the slightest lift of power-packed shoulders. ‘Did you pass my message on? Stress the importance of my seeing him tonight?’
‘Yes.’ The word was a bitter condemnation of the effect of having done just that, but he continued smoothly, as if not noticing her abrupt change of tone,
‘Then I simply refuse to believe that he could calmly absent himself without seeing me.’
‘No? How nice to have such self-assurance,’ Selina taunted with cool malice, seething inside at the man’s monumental arrogance.
Dominic had said that this creature was Martin’s enemy, Vanessa had reinforced that information. And she herself was beginning to understand exactly why they should have received the news of his imminent arrival in the way they had, as if an unexploded bomb had been secreted on their premises. Adam Tudor wasn’t the down-at-heel, whining opportunist Dominic had led her to expect. She could have dealt with that. The reality was something else.
A layer of ice inched down her spine as she forced herself to meet his level, thoughtful stare head-on, her golden eyes, long-lidded and slumbrous, giving no hint of her razor-sharp mind as she asked, almost idly, ‘How much were you expecting Martin to shell out?’ From the suavely elegant look of him, the clothes he wore, he was used to nothing but the very best. Whatever he had in mind it wouldn’t be small change.
‘I see Dominic and Vanessa have been getting at you.’ His beautiful mouth curved humourlessly but there were disconcerting lights in those slightly hooded green eyes that made Selina’s breath catch in her throat. She turned her head quickly, looking into the fire, her pure, disdainful profile brushed by the warm glow, revealing the entrancing imperfection of a too short, curling upper lip, the full pout of the generous, made-to-be-kissed mouth. And he continued in that rough velvet voice, as if the question he posed was purely academic, ‘I take it your cousin and aunt have also been unexpectedly called away from home?’
How unexpectedly he would never know, not if she could help it. And she despised herself for the way his voice, his looks, his sheer male animal magnetism could make something move deep inside her. This man was her uncle’s enemy, for heaven’s sake! Merely learning of his intention to visit had been enough to give the elderly man a heart attack! So why did her wretched body react as if this was the one man she had spent her life waiting for when her brain informed her that he was poison?
Her throat was too tight with a disgusting amalgam of sexual awareness and self-hatred to facilitate a verbal response to his question, so she merely nodded, unable to prevent the sideways slant of anguished eyes as they sought his own.
‘Then I’m left with no option but to deal with you. Not that that will be any hardship, believe me.’ The smoky sexuality of his voice made her heart punch beneath her breastbone, and her hand flew up, as if to steady that wayward organ, and she saw his sultry eyes follow the betraying gesture and went hot all over, her flesh burning.
Belatedly, she hauled herself together and clipped out, ‘Fine.’ He was all too aware of his masculine potency, of its devastating effect, well used to using it very deliberately when it suited him. And if he thought she’d be a push-over simply because of her gender then that gave her the advantage, didn’t it? He would expect her to bend beneath the onslaught of his undoubted attractions, to move to his side of the fence, dragged there by the strength of the magnetic forcefield that surrounded him. He wasn’t to know that she would fight for Martin’s well-being with every last weapon at her command.
And he was at it again, using that spurious, facile charm as he told her softly, ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you. All of it—interesting.’
Which was a blatant lie. Her job within the company wasn’t that high-profile; she did it to the best of her considerable ability but, as yet, it hadn’t earned her space in the glossies! And when did a man, such a potently masculine one at that, interest himself in the stocking of women’s boutiques?