his lean, aroused body.
To her intense humiliation, Natalia’s betrayed her. In her hidden, inner reaches desire worked its physical magic, overwhelming her in a smooth, heated tide. Although superhuman will held back her rash impulse to signal a surrender, she had to fight a bitter battle with untamed need—and he, damn him, knew it!
She’d been attracted to Dean—but this was a wilder, fiercer response, and it scared her. This, she thought, trying desperately to regroup her defences, was the sort of thing that toppled kingdoms.
Clay relaxed his grip. ‘Physical evidence is more trustworthy than words. They often deceive—the body never does.’
If there had been the slightest satisfaction—the faintest note of smugness—in his voice, Natalia would have twisted free and stalked across the crowded dance floor to the other side of the room. What stopped her was the raw catch to his words, the harsh, startled edge he couldn’t conceal. When she looked up, darkness prowled the golden eyes.
And that made her angrily, foolishly confident. Carefully she uncurled the fingers that had dug into his upper arm. Carefully she positioned her gaze over his shoulder.
People moved in a bright kaleidoscope of colour around the floor, the masks turning familiar faces to strangers. Chatter and laughter echoed in her ears, backed by the succulent, achingly poignant sound of a turn-of-the-century waltz—one of her mother’s favourites.
Coolly, deliberately, she asked, ‘Is this your usual mode of attack? A pre-emptive strike with no attempt at subtlety? What follows now—all-out war?’
His tight smile revealed strong white teeth that snapped out one word. ‘Surrender.’
CHAPTER TWO
NATALIA should have laughed in his face. She should have said, Really? with every ounce of sarcasm she could muster, lifted her brows in scorn and disdain and left Clay there in the middle of the dance floor.
Instead her mouth dried and she felt as though she’d fallen into a black hole and was being torn apart by forces she couldn’t fight. Beneath that succinct word there had been a controlled, menacing determination, the remorseless patience of the hunter he’d likened himself to.
She was frightened. She was exhilarated. And that reckless excitement wasn’t tempered by common sense or pragmatism. He’d issued a challenge, one she was so tempted to take up she could taste the wanting—keen, enticing, insistent, dangerous as a drug.
‘I’m not into surrender,’ she parried, surprised to hear a steady voice.
Clay swung her around a couple who’d forgotten their neighbours were watching and were swaying together in an embrace that came close to being embarrassing. ‘Perhaps I am,’ he said, and laughed quietly at the swift flash of fire in her glance. ‘Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Natalia,’ he said, reading her so perfectly that it was a statement, not a question.
‘I’m very into power,’ she said offhandedly.
But that terrifying, untamed desire stirred again. She felt as though he’d put his mark on her; his scent, fiercely male, filled her nostrils; her fingers tingled, seeking slick, tanned skin. And sensation flowed through her, glowing, fiery, merciless as lava, devouring everything in its path.
This is simple lust, Natalia thought disdainfully, nothing more. Intensely relieved when at last the music died on a flourish, she pulled free of his arms, turning her head away in the hope of disguising the hasty flutter of her breathing.
‘It cuts both ways,’ Clay Beauchamp said unhurriedly, tawny eyes glittering as he held out his arm.
If only her mother hadn’t been so determined to bring up her daughter as a lady! Reluctantly Natalia put the tips of her fingers on his sleeve, straightening her spine as they walked across to the side of the room.
Liz was already sitting there; horrified, Natalia endured a sharp stab of jealousy at her friend’s sunny, unaffected smile at Clay.
Woodenly, she introduced them. ‘Liz, this is Clay Beauchamp, who has bought Pukekahu Station. Clay, Liz Kaiwhare. Her parents own the Tourist Lodge in Manakiwi Bay.’
Dimpling, Liz held out her small hand. With a smile that indicated more than appreciation, Clay took it. Another spear of jealousy rankled through Natalia.
‘You looked wonderful together,’ Liz said with a rare lack of tact. ‘Everyone was watching you—you’re really well matched.’
‘Just what I’ve been trying to convince Natalia,’ Clay said outrageously, mockery glimmering in his golden eyes.
Liz laughed. ‘And I’ll bet she told you she didn’t have time.’ She glanced at Natalia’s unresponsive face, then back to Clay. ‘She works far too hard,’ she said firmly.
Fortunately Mr and Mrs Kaiwhare arrived back then, and the ensuing bustle of introductions silenced Liz.
A little later, however, Natalia—carefully ignoring Clay Beauchamp, still with their group—said half under her breath, ‘Stop trying to matchmake.’
‘Not interested?’ Liz’s eyes widened further. ‘Truly, Nat?’
‘Truly.’ Natalia picked up her glass of water with a jerk that almost spilled it.
Liz grinned. ‘Then you won’t mind if I try my luck, will you?’
The icy water sizzled down Natalia’s throat. Meticulously she put the glass down and contemplated the green-skinned wedge of lime decorating its rim. ‘Not in the least,’ she said tersely, stiffening slightly as she heard Clay laugh.
‘Liar,’ Liz said cheerfully. ‘You’re fascinated by each other. Nat, give yourself a break. One rotten apple doesn’t mean you have to retire to a nunnery.’
‘I haven’t got time for romantic entanglements.’ Or unromantic ones.
Liz leaned forward, her pretty face vengeful. ‘I could throttle Dean Jamieson. He might belong to an old, stiff, rich family with a lot of old, stiff, rich power, but he is a nasty piece of goods. Keeping quiet about his wife, and then spreading it around the district that you tried to break up his marriage was a totally rotten thing to do. Not that it matters—everyone knows he was lying.’
The embarrassment of being warned off only an hour or so previously by yet another wife sprang to Natalia’s mind. ‘Not everybody,’ she said cynically. ‘Thanks to his malice, I’ve now got a reputation.’
‘Only with nasty-minded creeps,’ Liz said with trenchant, partisan bias. ‘They’re jealous because you’re so stunning and you don’t give a cent for the men who try to hit on you.’
Natalia stifled a yelp of laughter. ‘You make it sound as though I’ve cut a swathe through the district!’
‘You could if you wanted to.’ Liz leaned closer and dropped her voice. ‘And you’d better accept that you’re as attracted to Clay Beauchamp as he is to you or you’re going to find yourself in deep trouble. I suspect he’s the bulldozer sort! And as he’s living only a mile away—’
Natalia’s lip curled. ‘He’s not a farmer, Liz,
