before, his voice repressive, he replied, ‘I haven’t any family.’
Plainly he was in no mood to be questioned. But, needing to know more about this stranger she was married to, about their life together, she persisted, ‘Where did we meet...?’
He swung the wheel and they turned into a paved forecourt and drew to a halt in front of a huge apartment block.
‘Was it in England?’
Curtly, he said, ‘I thought I’d made it clear that I wanted you to rest rather than keep asking questions.’
Resenting the way he was treating her, she protested, ‘But I—
He put a finger to her lips. This is the Ventnor Building and we’re home. Any further questions will keep until tomorrow.’
The light pressure of that lean finger against her mouth stopped her breath and made her lower lip start to tremble.
Watching her with hooded eyes, he moved it slowly, tracing the lovely, passionate outline of her mouth, and she was submerged by a wave of sensation so strong that it scared her half to death.
She saw his white teeth gleam in a smile, and suddenly felt terribly vulnerable. He knew only too well what effect his touch had on her.
As he got out and came round to open her door a blue-uniformed night-security guard appeared from nowhere.
‘Mr Saunders, Mrs Saunders...’ He gave them a laconic salute. ‘Want me to park her for you?’
‘Please, Bill.’ Jos tossed him the keys and stooped to help Clare from the car. With a strong arm around her waist he led her past the main doors to a side entrance and slid a card into the lock.
The chandelier-lit marble foyer, ringed by glittering stores and boutiques, was vast and empty. Their footsteps echoed eerily in the silence as, watched by the glassy eyes of the elegantly dressed mannequins in the shop windows, they crossed to a bank of elevators.
He produced a key, and a moment later the doors of his private elevator slid to behind them.
‘You live in the penthouse.’ Her own certainty surprised her.
Brilliant eyes narrowed to slits, he turned to watch her like a hawk, his hard face all planes and angles. ‘What makes you so sure?’
As they shot smoothly upwards she pressed her fingers to her temples and struggled to pin down the elusive recollection. It was like trying to trace one particular shadow in a room full of shadows.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
They slid to a halt, and with a hand beneath her elbow he led her across a luxuriously carpeted hall and into an elegant living room. The room must be on a corner of the building, she realised, because two walls at right angles seemed to be made entirely of lightly smoked glass panels which opened onto a terrace and roof garden.
She could see the shapes of trees and bushes and hear the splash of a fountain. It seemed strange when they were so far above the city.
With some trepidation, she said, ‘I think I’m scared of heights.’
‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t have chosen to marry a man who lives in a penthouse.’
With a sudden sensation of déjà vu, she felt sure he’d said those mocking words to her once before, used the same coolly cutting tone.
Though unable to recall the precise terms of their relationship, she was certain it wasn’t of the pleasant, friendly ‘rub along together’ sort, but rather the tempestuous ‘strike sparks off each other’ kind.
The kind where someone could get hurt.
No, not someone. Her. Every instinct warned her that Jos was dangerous, that he wanted to hurt her, would enjoy hurting her.
‘Why do you want to hurt me?’ The question was out before she could prevent it.
‘Why should I want to hurt you?’
Glancing quickly at him, she saw his dark face was cool and shuttered. It would only reveal what he wanted it to reveal. He would only tell her what he wanted her to know.
‘What makes you imagine I want to hurt you?’ he persisted.
She made a helpless gesture with her hands. ‘I don’t know. I just get the feeling you don’t like me very much.’
He moved towards her.
Instinctively she backed away.
Reaching out, he caught her wrist and pulled her against him. One arm held her while his free hand came up to encircle her throat lightly.
Something about his stillness, the tension in his muscles, warned her that he was waiting for her to struggle.
When she stood as if frozen, he bent his dark head and let his lips wander over her cheek and jaw. She caught her breath, aware of the faint scent of his skin, the slight roughness of stubble.
His lips brushed her ear, making her shiver, as he said, ‘Liking is such a bloodless, insipid emotion. It has nothing to do with what I feel for you.’
Recognising something fundamental in his words, knowing she was close to an important truth, she felt her heart begin to race with suffocating speed. ‘What do you feel for me?’
The sudden flare of anger in his eyes made her blood run cold. Before she could do or say anything he covered her mouth with his own.
While he deepened the kiss, ravaging her mouth with a savage, punitive expertise, she lay against him, lost and dazed, knowing only that if he released his grip she would fall.
When he finally lifted his head she was trembling in every limb, her breath coming in harsh gasps.
He looked down at her, studying the violet eyes that looked too big for her heart-shaped face, the swollen lips, the fine dew of perspiration on her forehead, and said tightly, ‘You should know better than to try to provoke me.’
‘I wasn’t trying to provoke you,’ she denied in a husky whisper.
With a muttered oath he let her go so suddenly that she staggered a little, and the beautiful room whirled sickeningly around her head.
A moment later he had swept her up in his arms and was carrying her into what was obviously the master bedroom.
‘What are you doing?’ she croaked.
‘Taking you to bed.’
‘No!’ Every trace of colour drained from her face, leaving it ashen.
Setting her on her feet, he said coldly, ‘Credit me with some sensitivity. I can see you’ve had about as much stress as you can handle, so for tonight at least I’ll sleep in the guest room.’
She gave the kind of shuddering sigh a child might give.
The impatience dying out of his face, he opened one of the drawers
