objecting to his proprietorial tone. ‘It was our first date! Far too soon to make a decision like that!’
‘Yet you knew you wanted me at the first clash of our eyes,’ he pointed out.
She shrugged, unable to deny what had to be the biggest humiliation of her life. ‘Which doesn’t mean I have to jump right into bed with you,’ she snapped. ‘Wanting and having are two completely different things.’
‘I am here.’ He held out his arms, mocking her reply and inviting her at the same time. But she wasn’t fooled; the anger was still there in his eyes. ‘For the—having. Yet you decide to play this—little game with your fresh-faced young man with the winsome smile and thatch of light brown spiky hair.’
Shocked by his accurate description of Tom, she stared at him. ‘How do you know what Tom looks like?’ she gasped.
He took a sip at his drink, dark eyes thoughtful on her while he took his time swallowing. Her head began to spin, that awful track of uncontrollable attraction spiralling its way through her system. It was the eyes that did it, she acknowledged hazily, feeling her breath begin to shorten and her body begin to pulse to a rhythm that was strange to her yet unbearably exciting. Those deep, dark, beautiful eyes could hold her captive at a single look.
‘Thomas MacDonald,’ he said suddenly, bringing her sharply back into focus. ‘Aged twenty-nine. Recently employed by Driver and Lowe, architects.’ Jemma’s mouth fell open. ‘Moved into the flat below your own on Tuesday last week. Has a passion for Simply Red and never misses a concert if he can help it. His current bank account rests at one thousand and fifty-two pounds. He caught the bus to work with you on Wednesday. Borrowed teabags from your enchanting flatmate Trina Beaton on Thursday. Trina Beaton...’ He moved on while Jemma could only stand there gaping. ‘A delightfully enterprising creature with bright red hair and a—satirical disposition. You have shared a flat with her since you arrived in London four years ago. She runs an interesting little business called—Maids in Waiting.’ He actually smiled with amusement at that. ‘An idea which began during her college years in an effort to make some extra money to prop up her grant and grew into the flourishing business it is today because she had the courage and foresight to see its potential. Her accountant is also her lover—though they never use your flat for their—intimate activities—reputedly in respect of your...finer feelings. His name is Frew Landers and he’s clever and sharp. Upwardly mobile, I think is the popular term. His favourite pastime is teasing you. Jemma Davis,’ he continued levelly, never for one second taking his eyes from her stunned face. ‘Parents dead, killed in an automobile accident four years ago. Attended secretarial college for two yours and graduated with distinctions at the age of nineteen. Has worked for three companies, TDC being the last and current one. Josh Tanner employed you—not particularly for your exemplary secretarial skills, but because he wanted to take you to bed. But—and I compliment you on your good sense—you made him see the error of his—judgement. Since then you have become his right-hand man, though he does not realise it himself. And his complicated love-life has hit the doldrums—how is Cassie, by the way?’ he concluded lightly.
‘I n-need to sit d-down,’ Jemma said weakly.
‘Of course,’ he said, immediately the indulgent host and taking her arm to lead her over to one of the comfortable damask sofas set before the flower-filled grate of a beautiful mahogany fireplace.
She lowered herself carefully, aware that the slightest puff of wind was likely to toss her into a crumpled heap. He watched her sink into a corner, her face gone quite blank, then sat himself down beside her. She was still holding her glass, and he gently curled his own fingers around it and lifted it to her ice-cold lips.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, watching the colour take its time returning to her face. ‘But you made me very angry or I would not have said any of that.’
‘Why?’ she managed to enunciate, but only just. In truth, he had completely knocked the stuffing out of her.
‘I want you,’ he shrugged as if that explained everything. ‘By necessity I have to be a careful man. Power makes you dangerous, and your enemies do not always wear intentions on their sleeves. Danger can come in many guises—hostile take-overs, industrial espionage—’
‘And you suspect me of being some kind of Mata Hari trained to seduce you for all your powerful secrets?’ she gasped, disbelief and scorn warring in her anger-bright eyes.
He smiled, unrepentant. ‘Or just a lady,’ he suggested, ‘with the kind of past that could affect me?’
‘My God! You arrogant swine!’ she choked, not for one second missing his meaning. Furiously, she shot to her feet. ‘Well, hear this, Mr Stephanades,’ she flung at him. ‘This lady with a past is just a bit choosy herself!’
‘I know,’ he confirmed, his lazy smile enough to shoot the lid right off her temper.
‘Oh, go to hell,’ she muttered, and turned, her trembling legs barely able to support her as she stalked angrily for the door.
‘Virgin,’ he chanted cruelly after her. ‘And proud of it. Friends call you “one-date Jemma” and lay bets on who will be the first to crack the ice.’ She stopped, her spine stiffening in horror. ‘Speculation has it that you must have suffered a bad experience at some time to make you so unresponsive to men. But I know better, do I not?’
Jemma closed her eyes, appalled that his investigators could dig that deep!
‘I am not a promiscuous man, agape mou,’ he informed her smoothly. ‘The days of passing from one woman to another long ago lost its appeal with the risks it brings with it. I value my good clean bill of health, and am therefore very careful whom I share my body with.’
‘My God,’ she whispered, turning to stare at him. ‘I don’t believe I’m really hearing this!’
‘I want you, but not at any price—you understand?’ he said, a slight hint of apology in his tone as he came to his feet. ‘So I had to have you thoroughly checked out.’
‘So virgins are all you allow yourself these days, are they?’ Jemma threw scathingly at him.
His open-palmed shrug said it all. ‘In general, these days, I steer clear of intimacy with any women,’ he confessed. ‘You, are the exception.’
‘And I suppose you expect me to be honoured by that confession?’
‘No,’ he denied. ‘But I thought you may gain some comfort in knowing that I can offer you the same risk-free pleasure you will be giving me.’
‘Go to hell,’ she said again, her contempt of him only slightly overshadowed by the severe sense of disgust she felt at herself for being so obvious with him that he felt he could do and say all of this to her. ‘I would rather take my chances with Tom MacDonald’s more dubious sexual history than with a cold-blooded, calculating devil like you!’
On that, she spun away again, grabbing up her belongings before storming out of the room, feeling angry enough just maybe to put her words into practice and offer herself to Tom, if only to get back at all of them—both her so-called friends and the man she had just left standing there—for daring to make her personal life their business!
She’d reached the front door before he caught up with her, his hands like manacles as they closed around her upper arms to swing her round to face him. Her coat went one way, her purse the other. She saw the fury leaping in his eyes, the threat
