was intending to give you the once-over, after your fall down the…’ he paused, delicately, his mouth ironic ‘…adder!’
Mariann squirmed, not wanting to risk having a handson experience with Mr Bedroom Eyes himself and wondering what it would take to free herself.
‘You tryin’ to stop the blood flowing to me fingers?’ she asked in pointed objection.
‘Is that what I’m doing? Dear me! No wonder I’m known for breaking butterflies’ wings on wheels,’ he said in a low, unnervingly cruel undertone. He smiled unpleasantly, as though contemplating a few butterflies he’d destroyed, and Mariann’s pulses lurched erratically. ‘In certain circumstances, I use more force than necessary.’
‘What circumstances?’ she asked hoarsely.
His sharply sculptured lips curled into a calculating smile that coincided with the pressure of his hips against hers. ‘When I’m aroused in one way or another.’
Aroused. Mariann swallowed hard. Was that anger or passion in his tone? She found it confusingly hard to tell. ‘You come to the boil a bit quick!’ she observed, her jaunty tone belying her fear.
‘Depends how high the heat is turned up,’ he said meaningfully. Mariann took the hint. She’d overdone it. This guy needed no encouragement for his sexual urge to take over. ‘Now let’s find out all about you, shall we?’
‘I’m better at talkin’ when I can breathe,’ she husked. His thumbs were now massaging in an irritatingly rhythmic way over her flesh. Her tingling flesh. How could it tingle? she thought in mortification.
‘And I’m better at getting information out of people when I have some kind of a hold over them,’ he replied coolly.
She gasped at his blatant threat and decided it was time this trickster experienced a dirty trick or two in return. So she inhaled deeply. Vigadó’s avid eyes fell to her T-shirt, which he watched with close interest as it rose beneath the strain of her lifting breasts.
And then, ‘Read all about it!’ she yelled, approximately two inches from his mesmerised face.
‘What the devil—?’ he roared, flinching violently.
She was free!’ ‘Just checking my lungs work all right,’ she said with bright innocence, taking a precautionary step or two nearer to the sanctuary of her outdoor clothes. A bit of bleached-blonde Marilyn slid seductively over one eye and she decided to leave it there. Her giggle surfaced at his pained expression. ‘I haven’t gone mad.’ She grinned. ‘That was-—’
‘I know,’ he grated irritably. ‘I’ve heard newspaper venders shouting that phrase in London. You bring the city sounds vividly back to me,’ he added in icy sarcasm. ‘You’ll be doing the Lambeth Walk and impressions of Big Ben chiming next.’
She flung him an amused look and then her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a laugh. ‘Oh, my!’ she gasped. ‘The paint’s gone all over your nice pin-stripe!’
His gaze followed hers. ‘Dammit!’ he cried irritably, slipping his arms out of the expensive coat—mercifully untouched—and passing it imperiously to her. ‘Look what you’ve done!’
Annoyed by his arrogant manner, she flung the coat in the general direction of his luggage and decided to have a dig at him. ‘I didn’t ask you to clutch me to you like a drownin’ man grabbin’ a lifebelt!’ she argued indignantly.
‘I was steadying you, after your launch into space,’ he said in chilling tones. ‘And I don’t quite see myself as a drowning man.’
‘Like a leech, then,’ she said in a kindly way, because he was, having sucked the life blood from her boss’s business.
His lips compressed. ‘I think I’m beginning to understand what you’re trying to convey,’ he said caustically. And suddenly she saw that he looked tired, as though his journey had been a long one. Tired was good news, she thought, giving a sigh of relief. He’d be less of a menace. ‘Have you got any turps?’ he snapped.
‘Sure,’ she chirruped. She strode over to She tool box and solemnly handed him the bottle and some rags.
‘You?’ Curt and barely civil, he held out the bottle.
Thanking him politely, she took the worst of the stains off her shorts and then turned her attention to the spots on her legs, aware that his eyes kept flicking over to watch her movements. No harm in that. Plenty of men had ogled her legs before—but this time she felt more uncomfortable than usual so she gave one hasty, make-do rub and waited anxiously for the chance to leave.
Her heart was racing at an all-time high. That would be due to the danger, of course. But being found out was far less worrying than the air of sexual violence he was projecting. And also worrying was her extraordinary pagan response to it. What had happened to her immunity, her sense of the ridiculous when men became doe-eyed and panting?
Unfortunately for her, this guy was light-years away from being doe-eyed or panting. She, however, had felt alarmingly close to sinking, with a mindless sigh, into his arms! Extraordinary—and humiliating that she was reacting to his leader-of-the-pack attitude by virtually rolling over in submission!
She darted a quick, resentful glance at him and he looked away. His strong but deft fingers worked at the cloth, stretching it taut across his well-developed thighs. In fact, he was very muscular all over. And she wished he were a seven-stone weakling. She’d feel safer. At the moment, she felt as safe as a rabbit in a trap. She shivered—and knew with a sinking heart that she had to abandon her attempt and try again the next evening. All she needed was a good exit line.
IN FRUSTRATION, Mariann began to pack up her things. While Vigadó worked doggedly at the stains on his trousers, her mind drifted to another man who’d always dominated his environment: István, her sister’s guy.
Fondly she contemplated the love-affair between istvá and Tanya—its ups and downs and eventual state of bliss. Whenever they’d looked into each other’s eyes, her heart had contracted with a wistful envy. A mutual adoration like that was very moving. But bitter experien perience reminded her that men like him were rare, very rare and the odds against falling in love with a man who met her special needs were virtually nil.
Marian smiled gently. Nevertheless, their happiness had given her hope. Things could turn out well after difficulties. The thought inspired her to persevere with her daring plan.
Maybe Lionel’s wife would return to him when she found out what a monster Vigadó really was. And Mary O’Brien—surely she wouldn’t approve of the working methods of a brute whose sole motive was profit and dam the consequences? All they needed was Mary’s secret address and they were home and dry.
‘Is the paint coming off?’ she enquired sweetly, her eyes lingering on the fine tailoring of his double-vented jacket and ferociously knife-edged trousers. Some of Lionel’s authors had probably funded that suit!
‘No. I hope the cleaners will have better luck. I hate waste,’ he frowned, dropping the cloth rag in. defeat. Foiled for once, and obviously hating
