if I was...unreasonable?’ Suddenly, without the necessity for words, she knew that this was not, had never been, a discussion about money. He had seen her reaction to him, misunderstood, thought she was actually prepared to go to bed with him to get what she wanted. Then, with a jolt, she realised that it was far worse than that. He believed that she wanted to go to bed with him.
Mesmerised by the idea, she remained rooted to the spot, quite unable simply to turn and walk away. Not because so much depended on getting him to sit for her. But because her legs had apparently turned to rubber. His mouth curled in a cruel parody of amusement as he made a move towards her, forcing her to look up or retreat. Sophie had no choice, and as she looked up he lifted his hand, touched the delicate hollow of her neck with the tip of one long finger, his brows lifting just a fraction as she felt the shock start through her body.
‘Well, well,’ he murmured. ‘Such flattering eagerness.’ Then, as his eyes held her fixed like a rabbit mesmerised by the headlights of an oncoming car, his finger traced the line of her breastbone with agonising slowness, until it came to rest against the white linen where it crossed between her breasts. Her lips parted on a sharp, anguished breath as her nipples tightened against the cloth.
‘Nice try, Miss Nash. But your friend should have warned you that I don’t talk to reporters or photographers. No matter how appealing the inducement.’
With a superhuman effort she raised her hand to slap away the fingers that lingered against the soft swell of her breast. ‘How dare you?’ she croaked.
‘Dare?’ He had ignored the slap, but now he withdrew his hand and she could breathe again. Just. ‘For my privacy I would dare a very great deal. I give you fair warning, Miss Sophie Nash, that if I find you anywhere near my home with a camera in your possession, you’ll discover that the dungeon is still a working feature. And that’s where you’ll remain until I decide otherwise.’
Now, lying in his bed, Sophie almost jumped again as she recalled the slam of the great front door. She knew she had to escape. Get away from this insufferable man as quickly as possible. A yawn caught her by surprise, and her lids, suddenly unbearably heavy, drifted shut. It was important. But she would just have a little sleep first.
SOPHIE woke, stretched, regarded her unconventional sleeping wear with a slight frown and pulled herself upright, wincing as the aches immediately re-established themselves, to confront a pair of dark, inquisitive eyes regarding her with open curiosity. The same dark eyes that had spotted the flash of her lens against the sun. They belonged to a boy of about five. or six years of age who was sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed.
‘Hello,’ she said.
He leaned forward a little, excitement barely contained. ‘What was it like?’ he asked.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘On the cliff.’ He flung an arm in that general direction.
‘Oh.’ She wondered what he expected. Breathless excitement and danger? The truth would probably be best. ‘It was hot and dusty,’ she offered, and hid a smile at his open scorn. ‘And very...frightening.’
‘I wouldn’t be frightened,’ he said, clearly dismissing her fears as something to be expected of a woman. ‘I’m going to climb it...one day. All the way.’
The thought made her feel suddenly queasy. ‘Well, make sure you take a rope,’ she advised.
‘You didn’t,’ he pointed out.
‘I was stupid. Your father had to rescue me.’
He regarded her with something like pity. ‘But you’re a girl.’
She could offer no argument to that. Male chauvinism lives, she thought, passed down from father to son. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Tom! What are you doing in here?’ The boy scrambled off the bed guiltily. ‘I told you to leave Miss Nash alone.’
‘I didn’t wake her up, Papa. She did it all by herself. Didn’t you?’ He appealed to Sophie.
‘All by myself,’ she agreed. ‘He didn’t disturb me. Really.’
Chay Buchanan was not to be so easily placated. ‘Go and have your tea. Theresa is waiting for you.’
Tom gave her an uncertain little smile, bravado extinguished. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
‘Don’t be, Tom. Enjoy your tea.’ She watched the door close beind him with regret as she was forced instead to confront his stony-faced father, who leaned towards her and grasped her arm.
‘What were you asking him?’ There was no mistaking the raw anger in his voice, his face, the way his fingers bit into the soft flesh.
‘I didn’t ask him anything. Despite your low opinion of me, I am not in the habit of interrogating children.’
‘You’re suggesting that such a thing would be beneath you?’ he demanded, disbelief stamped in every line of his face.
She glared at him. ‘I’m not suggesting it,’ she retorted coldly. ‘I’m telling it like it is.’ For a moment their eyes clashed.
‘So what were you. talking about?’ The fingers bit deeper and she tried not to wince visibly.
‘He...he asked me about the cliff.’
‘The cliff?’ He paled visibly. ‘What did he ask you?’ There was an urgency about him that intrigued her, despite her attempt to hold herself apart. He gave her a little shake. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘He just asked what it was like. I told him it was frightening and that I had been stupid...’
‘And?’
‘He took the view that I was feeble because I was a girl.’ She paused, then added, because she thought he should know, ‘He said he was going to climb it himself one day.’
‘Damn you,’ he said, through tight lips.
‘Frankly, Mr Buchanan, I don’t think it had anything to do with me. But perhaps some simple lessons in rock-climbing would be a wise precaution,’ she advised, with feeling. ‘Let him have a taste of the pain as well as the excitement.’
He swept his hand through a dark lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. ‘No.’ A muscle was working furiously at his mouth. ‘He’s not going anywhere near that damned cliff.’ He glared down at her. ‘I don’t have to ask how you are,’ he snapped. ‘Obviously a great deal better.’
‘Yes,’ she replied. And some small devil prompted her to add a gentle, ‘Thank you for asking.’ It brought her a sharp look. ‘Quite well enough to leave.’
‘You’ll leave when it suits me, Miss Nash. In the meantime you’ll stay where you are until Paul has checked you over. Don’t say anything stupid to him,’ he warned.
Stupid? Like what? Help me, I’m being held prisoner ? She managed a sweetly insincere smile.
