then, how would she have known? Cameron had never once taken her to New York with him, and he certainly wasn’t the kind of man to boast. A man like Cameron didn’t need to boast, she thought longingly, a little sigh automatically escaping her lips as it hit her just how much she had missed him.
She closed the door of the flat behind her and yawned widely, dropping her wrap carelessly onto the back of the low sofa. She would change out of this clinging black number, run herself a deep, perfumed bath and then lie—literally, she thought with hungry amusement—in wait for her gorgeous husband.
It took a moment or two for her to register that there was a light shining from the direction of the bedroom. Surely she hadn’t been so careless as to have left it on this morning? Though she had been in a tearing hurry. She’d overslept after a troubled night of disturbed dreams, in which Cameron’s face kept appearing tantalisingly before her.
For a moment she froze as she heard a sound coming from the bedroom, but the fear fled immediately, for she recognised that much loved step at once. She pushed back her dark hair, which had been all mussed up by the wind, to see the tall, shadowy figure of her husband appear framed in the doorway, set against the soft glow of the lamp behind him. In the semidarkness, even more than usual, his body appeared all hard-packed muscle and power.
He snapped on the main-light switch and the room was flooded with a harsh glare. Alessandra’s welcoming smile died on her lips. Because she looked up into Cameron’s harsh, unwelcoming face and suddenly, inexplicably, she really was frightened.
CAMERON studied Alessandra for a moment and something about the forbidding coldness in his eyes—an expression Alessandra had never seen there before—made her skin prickle with tiny goose-bumps. So that, instead of falling ecstatically into each other’s arms as they would normally have done, they stood surveying each other silently against the great expanse of the room. But there was no tenderness in his face and none of the softness which was usually there when he looked at her.
‘Hello, Alessandra,’ said Cameron eventually, but he didn’t move from where he was standing.
And pride kept her where she was. ‘Hello, Cameron,’ she said, and it came out far more coolly than she’d intended—but why shouldn’t it have done? There had been some odd, strained quality to his voice. ‘I—wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’
‘So I see.’ His mouth curved disdainfully as he took in the low-cut black dress which emphasised the creamy thrust of her breasts and skimmed down closely over her narrow waist and hips to finish midthigh, making the most of every inch of her long, slender legs. She could see a spark of hunger in his blue-grey eyes vying for dominance with a definite expression of contempt.
With a kind of derisive snort, he strode over to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses of wine from the bottle which he had obviously opened earlier and which lay cooling in an ice bucket. Had he been planning some kind of celebration? she wondered fleetingly.
And just how long had he been home? A slight desperation crept into her veins as she saw that his grim face showed no sign of relaxing. He silently moved towards her and held out a glass of Chablis. It was her favourite wine, and he had chosen one of the finest vintages, but suddenly the thought of drinking it sickened her to the stomach.
He continued to regard her unsmilingly and an angry pulse began to beat at the base of her throat. Just what right did he think he had to stand there and offer her wine, while that condemning look tightened the features of his arrogant face? As if she were some kind of criminal!
‘I don’t want any wine,’ she said shortly.
‘No,’ he answered curtly, and his mouth curved with scorn this time as he put both the untouched glasses back down. ‘I shouldn’t imagine that you do—I can smell it on your breath as it is.’
She’d had a total of three glasses of champagne all evening, hardly enough to qualify her for the drunk of the year that he was making her sound like! But she had no intention of justifying her behaviour to him. She would not be treated as though she were on trial. She stared him full in the face, her dark eyes sparking angry fire, feeling more furious than she could ever remember feeling in her life.
And yet she was achingly aware of his slanting blue-grey eyes, with the dark brows which matched the thick, naturally ruffled hair. She hadn’t seen him for just one week and it took every bit of concentration she possessed not to stare at that magnificent muscular physique, imagining him naked... hating herself for wanting him, even though he was behaving in this inexplicably hostile way towards her.
‘You’re obviously jet-lagged—’ she began, prepared to be conciliatory, but he interrupted her with a seemingly casual query.
‘New dress?’
Now why were her cheeks growing pink? ‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘You know darned well it is.’
His experienced eyes had obviously assessed the quality and the superb cut of the gown which clung to the streamlined curves of her body, and that direct scrutiny made her skin tingle, the fires of lust and anger igniting in her veins.
‘You aren’t usually quite so generous with yourself,’ he remarked, in a seemingly offhand way which spoke volumes.
Enough was enough! Alessandra decided to tell him the truth. That way she would have nothing to feel guilty about. Because she could just imagine how she’d feel if she lied and told him she’d purchased the gown herself, only for Andrew to let slip that it was a bonus, bought by the company.
Oh, why the hell had she let him talk her into it? What had, at the time, seemed a perfectly reasonable action was fast developing into something else entirely. But she wasn’t going to feel guilty. For she had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.
‘No, you’re right,’ she answered coolly. ‘I’m not normally quite so generous with myself.’
‘But on this occasion you were?’ he persisted in that impartially analytical manner she’d only ever heard him use at work. ‘I’m intrigued to know why.’
‘I didn’t actually buy it—’ she began.
But he interrupted her with a clipped demand. Then just who did?’
‘The company.’
‘The company?’ he echoed softly, his deep voice full of sarcasm, the blue-grey eyes narrowing unfathomably. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really!’ she snapped.
He elevated his dark, beautifully shaped eyebrows. ‘How very extraordinary. I must say that I’ve never considered buying any of my staff dresses,’ he emphasised deliberately. ‘Particularly exorbitantly priced dresses which do rather more to reveal than to conceal. Dresses which are designed solely with the intention of turning a man on.’ He looked directly into her eyes, his handsome face cold with arrogant enquiry. ‘But presumably that’s what Andrew had in mind?’
‘Andrew had nothing to do with it!’ she retorted furiously.
‘No?’ He clearly didn’t believe a word she was saying. ‘He just paid the bill, did he?’
‘Oh, I’m not talking
