his bent elbow on the steering wheel, a thumb and forefinger supporting his chin, his thick lashes were drawn down as he studied her reflectively, giving her every ounce of his attention. Dear heaven! What she wouldn’t have given for this much attention from him seven years ago!
Berating herself for even thinking along those lines, unable to meet his eyes, she still couldn’t stop herself appreciating his classic and magnificent bone structure, the chiselled sweep of his forehead and cheekbones, that proud flaring nose, that tantalising dent in his chin …
‘I’m just finding it hard,’ he expressed, shocking her back to her senses, ‘determining why any woman would accept a strange man’s hospitality—even if he is driving a Bentley—unless she’s either very foolish or hoping to gain something out of it.’
Of course. Rayne bit the inside of her cheek.
‘I suppose in normal circumstances I wouldn’t even have considered it,’ she told him, finding her tongue. ‘But in view of his age and the fact that he said he had a house full of staff to look after me, I thought I’d be perfectly safe.’
‘And were you aware of who he was?’ he enquired. ‘Before he brought you home with him?’
Rayne’s heartbeat increased. Be careful, she warned herself. He doesn’t know who you are. Just breathe normally. Keep your cool.
‘I knew the name, certainly … as soon as he said it.’ She gave a nonchalant little shrug. ‘Who wouldn’t? Who doesn’t know the name of the man who gave MiracleMed to a grateful medical profession?’ It was an effort to smile. To pretend to believe what everyone else believed about Mitchell Clayborne. ‘He’s a very clever man.’
That firm mouth twisted contemplatively. Such a cruel yet sensual mouth, she decided, in spite of her dislike of its owner. Crazily, she wondered how many women had felt the pressure of it, known the power of this man’s unrestrained passion.
‘Yes,’ he breathed, ‘but I meant before those delinquents sidetracked you into chasing after them.’
Rayne gave herself a mental shake. What the hell was she thinking about? she berated herself.
Unconsciously now, she brought her tongue across her top lip. She hated lying, even on her father’s account. ‘Are you still suggesting I planned for someone to rob me so I could play on your father’s sympathies and wheedle my way into his house for some financial benefit?’ she queried, her voice cracking slightly because she wasn’t being straight with him, even if it was for reasons other than he was implying. ‘If you think I’m interested in your father’s money, then all I can say is you’ve got a very overstretched imagination!’
He laughed softly, unperturbed by the rising note in her voice.
‘And I could suggest that the reason you don’t like women taking an interest in your father,’ she went on heatedly, with a sudden surge of pity for Mitchell Clayborne that surprised her, ‘is because you might lose all you stand to gain if he reciprocates!’
‘Hardly,’ he said with a tug of that sensuous mouth.
Because he was involved in so many other enterprises besides the company his father had founded and in which her own father had played such a major part, a man of King’s calibre, determination and unwavering command, she accepted rather grudgingly, didn’t need to rely on anyone or anything, least of all the prospect of inherited wealth.
‘Let’s eat,’ he said, restarting the engine, the cutting edge of his gaze picking up on the way her lovely breasts rose and fell.
But with what? he wondered. Relief?
As his success depended on his keen ability to sense any subtle changes in mood or behaviour—both in his business rivals and in his own workforce—his experience had served him well, and it didn’t let him down now.
Rayne Carpenter portrayed all the characteristics of a woman who wasn’t being entirely honest, he decided, pulling away. And yet what could she be hiding if it wasn’t a very determined plan of action to ensnare Mitch? He had seen his father preyed upon before—several times—but once in particular, and with disastrous consequences, and he’d be hanged if he’d stand by and let Mitch bring such devastation down on himself again.
No, he decided, with sudden inexorable purpose. The thing he had to do was to keep her away from his father—at least until he could check her out. And the best way to do that was to claim all this dubious young woman’s time for himself.
He had some time on his hands as his second-in-command had taken over his commitments in the States, and he had already promised himself a short break when it was over. He had never had any difficulty seducing any woman he put his mind to seducing, and with this one, he decided grimly, conscience didn’t even come into it. If she was the sort of woman who was out just to prey on Mitch, then the prospect of even richer pickings with him should get her opportunistic juices flowing nicely.
It was an unfortunate choice of words, and one which was making his mind work overtime as he imagined her hot and compliant, moist with the honeyed heat of desire. He felt his body’s hard response as he imagined freeing those beautiful breasts from their restricting cups and moulding them to his hands, feeling each sensitive tip blossom as he took it into his mouth.
He shook away his errant fantasies, trying to pull himself together. It was probably because he hadn’t had a woman in his bed for some months, he decided, that his body was behaving like a rampant adolescent’s now. Still, he couldn’t deny that the prospect of stripping this unsuspecting little gold-digger bare—and in more ways than one—excited him immensely.
The café to which he took her was situated in a pedestrian thoroughfare, paved in the same peach and cream tones as the buildings which flanked it. Baskets of flowers—red and purple and pink—decorated ornamental street lamps, while luxuriant foliage grew in abundance outside the shops and cafés. There were orange trees, Rayne recognised, growing beneath the artistically wrought balconies of the buildings, whose pastel-coloured shutters and breath-catching architecture were a testament to human creativity, in contrast to the awesome cliffs that formed a mighty backdrop behind the buildings that stood at the head of the elegant avenue.
‘Here we are,’ King invited, pulling out a chair for her, the smile he gave her appreciative of her wonderment in spite of what he had been thinking about her earlier.
A little later, drinking coffee with home-baked rolls spread thickly with locally made jam, Rayne was relieved when King’s conversation touched only on things like the area and the recent airways strike. Safe, casual topics, she decided gratefully, until he suddenly enquired, ‘Do you usually take your holidays alone?’
Instantly she tensed up. That almost criticising note was back in his voice and now that he’d brought the conversation back to a personal level, she had to remind herself to be on her guard.
She thought of Matt Cotton, whom she’d been seeing on a purely platonic level for a year or so before they had parted six months ago. He’d been the only man she had ever considered getting serious with—serious enough to go on holiday with, at any rate. But after their relationship had moved up a notch, the first weekend she had slept with him when they had gone away together, she’d been so disillusioned by his suggestion that they move in together ‘to see how it goes’ that it had come as quite a shock to her to realise that she wanted more than Matt was offering. What she wanted was the sort of relationship that her parents had enjoyed. A lifelong commitment inspired
