to roll down the street in a barrel. Taking his car keys from his pocket, he tossed them from one hand to the other and told her huffily, as if she were a particularly dense child, ‘Now we know Father’s in no immediate danger I have to get back to head office. Somebody has to run the company. I’ll be staying in town until the weekend, unless Father’s condition deteriorates, of course,’ he qualified impatiently.
And something of her disbelief that he should leave her to deal with his half-brother must have shown on her face because he reminded her coldly, ‘You deal with the creep. I think you owe my parents that much, don’t you?’ and walked quickly away towards the red Porsche.
Selina gritted her teeth and pushed the wind-tumbled mane of her hair away from her face with the back of a leather-gloved hand. She didn’t need reminding of how much she owed her aunt and uncle—her uncle especially. And she would tackle Adam Tudor on her own, if she had to, but she just knew having Dominic at her side would have made it easier and wasn’t convinced by his sudden need to rush off back to head office.
In the circumstances, everything would have ticked over quite smoothly in his absence. There were plenty of staff perfectly capable of running the day-to-day business of the boutique chain for another twenty-four hours at the very least. It was almost as if he was afraid of facing his half-brother, listening to his demands and ruling them out of court.
And almost as if she was afraid of facing Adam Tudor again on her own, a cool inner voice mocked spitefully. As if she was afraid of that palpably cataclysmic masculine appeal. Afraid of the way she might react to it.
Which was, of course, absolute nonsense, she assured herself roundly, squaring her shoulders and marching over to where her Volvo was parked, the heels of her leather boots clicking decisively on the tarmac surface. She wasn’t a silly teenager to be taken in by a handsome face and a superb male body, or the type of voice that could charm the inmates of a harem out in droves!
* * *
Quite why she had informed Meg that she would be entertaining a guest this evening Selina was not altogether sure. That she would feel safer, keeping that unwanted dinner appointment here, on her home ground, conjured up the opposite—fear. But she had already assured herself that she wasn’t afraid of him, hadn’t she? And when the housekeeper’s thin face had registered surprise that Selina should be entertaining at all, at a time like this, she had announced coolly, ‘It’s business. And make the meal simple; there’s no need to try to impress.’
And so it was. Unpleasant business, at that, she reminded herself as she gave up the attempt to tame her abundant hair into a sober knot and allowed it to tumble all over her shoulders. And business that was best conducted on her own ground.
Although she had deliberately dressed down, making no concessions to her femininity, the dark navy fine wool dress she had chosen to wear seemed to flatter her greyhound slenderness, subtly emphasising the sensuality of the curves she had intended it to disguise. Strange. A frown caught the soft skin between her brows. She had never before noticed what the understated, very simple style of the dress did to her figure before, or how the deep, almost sombre colour made her hair look like living flame.
But it was too late to change. It was almost eight and pride wouldn’t allow her to keep him waiting. If he was left to kick his heels in the drawing-room he would believe, in his conceit, that she was taking her time over making herself look her best for him.
As she reached the head of the stairs she heard the chime of the doorbell and her heart leapt into her mouth. Meg was already crossing the echoing space of the softly lit hall to admit him. Selina had never felt so alone in her life but she was determined not to let it show as she descended the stairs, her head held high, her eyes carefully fixed just above his left shoulder as he crossed the portal, her voice devoid of expression as she instructed, before he could get a word in, ‘Take Mr Tudor’s coat, Meg, and we’ll eat in half an hour.’ There were a few flakes of snow on the shoulders of the soft sheepskin. Her eyes followed Meg as she carried the garment to the carved oak hanging cupboard tucked away beside the main door. And she used those small signs of the inclement weather as an excuse as she said, still not looking at him directly, ‘We’ll keep that dinner appointment here. The weather’s too foul to think of going out,’ and cursed herself for needing an excuse at all, for allowing him to deduce that she did.
And her skin crawled with embarrassed humiliation as he drawled smokily, a smile in his voice, ‘Relax. The idea’s fine by me. When I need my arm twisting before I’ll dine alone with a beautiful woman I’ll know it’s time I was pushing up daisies.’
So he, the prime egotist, believed she’d decided to entertain him here in order to be quite alone with him! His conceit was beyond bearing!
She turned quickly, hiding the way her face ran with colour, and stalked ahead to the drawing-room. But by the time she’d gone through, noted that Meg had banked the fire up, drawn the long burgundy-red velvet curtains against the wild black night outside she had herself well in hand. And her eyes met his with cool mockery as she put him straight, facing him confidently as she told him, ‘Don’t flatter yourself. What I have to say to you can be better said without an audience. Besides, I couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to go anywhere with you. Sherry?’
And she saw his eyes darken and narrow, his mouth tighten as a spurt of anger made his impressive frame go rigid. So her calculated rudeness had flicked him on the raw and, just for a moment, she exulted in her hitherto unsuspected power to hurt him.
But the unworthy emotion didn’t last long because something else took its place, something dark and tormented which sprang into shocking life, spreading its tortuous, poisoned talons into every vein, every nerve-ending, making her soul shake as he said through his teeth, every word tight with menace, ‘My God, you’re asking for it.’ Two furious paces brought him to her side and, shaken by the hot glitter of anger in his eyes, she turned her back on him, slim fingers sliding over the cool, carved glass of the sherry decanter. But his hands went to her shoulders, his grip impressive as he swung her round to face him again, his mouth a slashing stroke of derision as he told her, ‘There are more ways than one of taming a hell-cat,’ and proved it, bending his head to hers, his lips hard and punishing as they covered hers.
Her head jerked back beneath the ferocity of his kiss but her body was imprisoned in the iron cage of his arms and every last inch of her went up in flame beneath the pressuring contact of his ruthless masculine frame. And it was like nothing she had ever experienced before and as his tongue penetrated the soft inner moistness of her mouth her brain switched off on sudden burn-out and her senses took over, adding to the torment of sweet ravishment as she kissed him back, her body all boneless grace, and pliant, melting into his as his mouth gentled, still hungry, but different, intoxicatingly different.
She was having to cling on to him to maintain her balance and her hands had found their way beneath his jacket, and the feel of his body heat through the crisp cotton shirt he was wearing was intensely disturbing—
So disturbing that when he at last lifted his head from hers she was breathing in shallow, rapid gasps, her heart fluttering beneath her breastbone, her eyes hazed with the effects of what he had done to her senses, barely registering the smouldering quality of his thickly lashed, shadowed green gaze as his own eyes drifted from her parted, swollen lips to the crazy pulse-beat where it fluttered at the base of her throat and down, down to the twin, tumescent peaks of her breasts as they thrust their erotic invitation against the soft wool of her dress.
And slowly his fingers followed the lazy drift of his eyes and her senses leapt in tumultuous, untameable excitement as the pads of his long clever fingers scorched fire down the length of her throat, slipping beneath the V of her neckline to draw soft, slow circles around one thrusting nipple, laying waste her powers
