of anyone else or any higher concepts—the business world will just love you, Robyn. Do you use that delectable body as well as your brain to get what you want? You started early, I should know that, so—’
Nothing in the world could have stopped her lashing out at him and it caught him completely off guard. His head snapped back with the force of her hand across his face and for a moment there was complete stillness in the kitchen, the sound of voices and music from outside unbearably normal in what was suddenly a terribly abnormal world.
Robyn was shaking now, her dark brown eyes enormous in her chalk-white face. She could see her hand print forming on one tanned cheek, the red lines a reproach in themselves, and she stared at him, shocked beyond measure at what she had done. She had never, in all her life, struck anyone, and for it to be Clay Lincoln! And at Guy’s birthday party!
And then she backed away as Clay came forwards without saying a word, his face frightening. ‘Don’t…don’t you dare hit me. I’ll call for someone—’
‘Hit you?’ It stopped him in his tracks. He swore, softly but vehemently and with enough force to scare her further. ‘Is that the sort of man you think I am? The sort who strikes women?’
‘I don’t know what sort of man you are.’
‘Really?’ It was deadly. ‘And yet you’ve been insufferable all evening. Care to tell me why?’ he asked cuttingly.
She had backed as far as she could go, the edge of the sink pressing into her lower back, but she still drew herself up as she said, ‘Me, insufferable? Me?’
‘Oh, don’t tell me!’ He folded muscled arms over his broad chest. ‘I’m the one who’s been aching to pick a fight. Right?’
‘I—I haven’t wanted to pick a fight, merely…’ Her voice trailed away. How could you explain the unexplainable?
‘Yes?’ He was eyeing her with complete and utter disdain.
She set her jaw, the old defiance which had been severely shaken coming to her aid. ‘I don’t have to explain anything to you,’ she stated tightly. ‘Not a thing!’
‘Wrong.’ He was watching her with unrelenting eyes, and then something in his expression changed as he added, thoughtfully now, ‘You don’t add up, Miss Brett, and I don’t like that. I remember a somewhat precocious teenager, bright, undeniably lovely, but fresh, eager, alive. There wasn’t a trace of sourness or scepticism there, so what happened?’
You. You happened. You blew my word apart and you don’t have the faintest inkling, do you? From his comment labelling her precocious and a spoilt brat as a teenager, he’d obviously put his own interpretation on that night years ago. He’d imagined she’d been trying out her new-found womanhood on any available man, was that it? That he had been the luck of the draw on which to cut her puppy teeth? Whereas in reality…
And that crack about using her body to get what she wanted! He had made it quite plain how he viewed her now as well. He was hateful, loathsome. How ever could she have imagined herself in love with him? She must have been stark staring mad!
‘Cass will be concerned if I don’t get back to the others,’ she said stiffly, ‘so if you’ve quite finished?’
‘I haven’t even started,’ he said softly, but he stood aside for her to pass him, his dark face unfathomable.
If she had been thinking straight she might have known he wouldn’t just let her leave, not after all that had transpired, but her head was a whirl and hot emotion sat in the place where common sense normally dwelt.
She swept past him, only to find herself swung round by hard male fingers on her wrist and then she was in his arms before she realised what was happening.
‘Let go of—’ The rest of her words were smothered by his mouth on hers and for a heart-stopping second she was too surprised and bewildered to react. And then she struggled fiercely, fighting him with all her strength. It had about as much impact as a moth fluttering against a brick wall.
It was a challenging kiss, severe almost, a kiss that dared her to relax and enjoy it, and it was a kiss by an expert. That much registered on Robyn’s spinning senses. He felt hard and sure against her softness and the smell of him spun intoxicatingly in her head, bringing her skin alive from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.
His name was whispering deep inside her and that frightened her as much as the sensations he was drawing forth so effortlessly. Clay was the last person in the world she should want to make love to her and shockingly—humiliatingly—that was exactly what she did want. Which made her…what? The answer to that gave her the strength to jerk away with a suddenness that took him by surprise.
‘I hate you.’ It was raw and low and she was trembling.
‘Do you?’ He looked back at her, his silver eyes glittering slightly. ‘Why such a strong emotion, Robyn?’ he asked tauntingly.
She blinked a little. He was tying her up in knots and she was letting him; this was completely the wrong way to handle a man like Clay Lincoln. She knew that; she dealt with all types in her work including hard-bitten journalists who would sell their own mother for a story, so why had her normal cool, distant façade got blown to smithereens? What was it about this man?
‘I don’t appreciate being mauled about for a start,’ she bit out tightly, praying the trembling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t communicate itself through her voice.
‘Mauled?’ He gave a soft, mocking laugh as he stepped back a pace, the crystal eyes pinning her to the spot. ‘I don’t think so, Robyn.’
His impossibly light eyes reflected his contempt of the statement and his aggressive handsomeness, his utter surety in himself, was galling. For a moment Robyn had the insane impulse to throw a paddy and shout and scream, anything, to get under that tanned skin, but the knowledge that she would be acting like the spoilt brat he’d accused her of being was restraint enough.
‘You may not think so but that is what I call it when a man forces himself on a woman,’ she said icily. ‘I neither asked for or wanted you to kiss me.’
‘True.’ And he had the absolute affront to smile. ‘But you enjoyed it when I did. I’ve kissed enough women in my time to know that. I had wondered all night what you’d taste like and now I know.’
She didn’t believe this man! She glared at him, bristling with fury, her fingers itching to hit him again. What an incredibly colossal ego. But she was not going to give him the satisfaction of losing her temper again. She drew herself up to her full five feet nine inches and stared straight into the silver-blue orbs, her voice dripping with scorn as she said, ‘You need to think I enjoyed it; that’s quite a different thing. If it makes you happy, dream on, Mr Lincoln.’
Her tone of voice did not amuse him, that much was obvious, but before he could respond the door to the kitchen opened again and Cassie breezed in, her voice bright as she said, ‘You two still in here? I told you you’d have plenty in common, didn’t I? You wouldn’t carry the ice bucket through for me, would you, Clay?’ she added as she opened the freezer door and extracted a bag of ice cubes to refill the huge silver ice bucket she had brought in with her from the lounge.
‘Sure thing.’ It was cool and relaxed, insultingly so.
Sure
