LITMIR.BIZ

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could see him leaning back in his high-backed chair, could hear his throaty chuckle as he discussed her with his friend.

       Probably quite a hellcat in bed, not that you’ll ever find out, mate…

      “He’s ruthless and crude and sneaky,” she went on. “I despise him.”

      “My word, you make him sound dreadful, like Machiavelli,” Lady Dashwood said mildly.

      “Picture Machiavelli on a motorbike, and you’re there.”

      “I’m sorry I missed the board meeting, I wanted to meet him.” She glanced out the window. “At least those reporters are gone.” She stood up. “I’ll go and fetch our pudding.”

      Natalie stood. “I’ll get it.” She’d do anything to escape her mother’s questions about Rhys.

      As she entered the pantry and grabbed a serving spoon from the drawer, her mobile rang. She frowned. She didn’t recognise the number. She hoped it wasn’t a reporter… “Hullo?”

      “Natalie? It’s Rhys.”

      She froze, spoon in hand. “What do you want?”

      He paused. “I called to see if everything’s all right. You never came back. Gemma said you were upset.”

      “I’m fine,” she said, her words chilly. “You needn’t worry.”

      “Why did you leave so suddenly?”

      “Something came up. Sorry, I have to go.” She pressed ‘end call’ and set it to vibrate.

      Almost immediately it began to buzz like an angry bee. Rhys again! Stubborn, pushy, awful man… Furious, Natalie tossed the mobile on one of the pantry shelves.

       …there’s no affair, just media speculation. Not that I’m complaining, mind. It’s great publicity for Dashwood and James…

      “Natalie,” her mother called out, “are you bringing the trifle?”

      “Yes, sorry.” She picked up the bowl and hurried back into the dining room.

      As they settled down to dessert, Natalie fumed. Rhys must’ve got her mobile number from Gemma, the interfering cow. She scowled and pushed the trifle around on her plate, creating aimless chocolate swirls on the china.

      “Darling,” her mother said in exasperation as she laid her fork aside, “what’s wrong? You barely touched your dinner; now you’re playing with your trifle! Don’t you like it?”

      She smiled wanly. “I love it. I just…had a difficult day.” She pushed her plate away. “I think I’ll go home and turn in early—”

      The throaty roar of a motorcycle engine pulling up outside interrupted her.

      Before Natalie could do more than exchange a startled glance with her mother, the doorbell rang. Then someone pounded on the door.

      “Who in heaven’s name is that, and at this hour?” Celia Dashwood harrumphed. “If it’s another reporter—”

      “I’ll get it,” Natalie said, her words grim. She rose and tossed her napkin down. “It’s probably Machiavelli.”

      “What—?”

      Nat strode to the door and flung it open. Rhys Gordon, his hand raised to knock again, stood on the doorstep. Anger suffused his face.

      “I’m not leaving this doorstep,” Rhys told her with grim determination, “until you tell me what the hell’s going on.”

       Chapter 9

      Natalie glared at him. “What do you mean?” She remained in the doorway but drew the door shut behind her. “And how’d you know I was here?”

      “Gemma told me. Never mind that – what the hell’s going on?” Rhys snapped. “And don’t say ‘nothing’,” he warned, “because something’s obviously wrong.”

      “There’s nothing wrong! And Gemma’s an interfering cow.”

      “Something happened after lunch today,” he said grimly. “And whatever it was, it got your knickers in a twist.”

      “Ah, yes, my knickers…that’s a subject that really fascinates you, isn’t it?” Natalie flung back. Her fists were clenched at her sides.

      He stared at her. “What?”

      “I heard you myself,” she accused him, “when I came back to your office. You were talking about me on the phone.”

      He frowned. “I talked to my brother for a few minutes. And we didn’t talk about you…or your knickers.” He cast his mind back over their chat – football scores, Jamie’s promotion to sous chef…and Alastair James’s party. “We didn’t talk about anything objectionable. And you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping,” he added pointedly.

      “I could hardly help but overhear you, could I? You were speculating about how good I’d be in bed! You don’t consider that objectionable?”

      “You’re mistaken.”

      “I know what I heard,” Natalie insisted, her voice undercut with fury. “Don’t add lying to your sins. You were so kind after Dominic dumped me at the party, you even offered to take me home. But you had an ulterior motive. You were making the most of the publicity, and you used me to do it!”

      “It wasn’t like that—”

      “No? How was it, then?” she demanded. “And don’t tell me it doesn’t boost your male ego, seeing photos of us in the tabloids, adding another affair to your long, sordid list—”

      “It’s preferable to seeing photos of you tossing wine on Dominic Heath.”

      Her lip trembled. “You used me. You knew I was drunk, and you took advantage—”

      “Used you? Really?” he asked, incredulous. “Because unless you were too inebriated to remember, you asked me to have sex with you, not once, but several times.”

      She squeaked in outraged mortification.

      “I could’ve given you what you wanted,” Rhys went on, fuelled by his rising anger. “I could’ve shagged you in your flat, or on the Triumph, or on the pavement, for that matter—”

      Natalie paled. “You’re the crudest, most disgusting man—”

      “But I didn’t! I fucking well didn’t, precisely because—” he stepped closer and lowered his voice “—I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I know Dominic humiliated you at Alastair’s party.” He scowled. “And I know you think I’m a heartless bastard with no redeeming qualities. Maybe I am. But I did not take advantage of you.”

      Natalie sniffed, only partially mollified. “You made it look like we were having an affair—”

      “I used the situation, Natalie. Not you.” He looked at her, his eyes intense. “It was damage control. I turned what might’ve been a bad situation to advantage. I did it to protect Dashwood and James from a lawsuit, and to protect you. I won’t apologise for that. I’d do it again.”

      “You told your brother I wasn’t your type.” She dropped her gaze from his and fiddled with her wristwatch. “And when he asked if I were any good in bed, you said he ought to ask Dominic. And that you imagined I was probably a…hellcat.”

      To her utter amazement, he began to laugh.

      “It isn’t funny!” she sputtered.

      “Oh, but it is.” He shook his head. “You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. That’s what happens when you eavesdrop.”

      “I didn’t eavesdrop!” she

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