the worst had happened. Face to face with him and not only had he recognised her, he was rubbing her face in her indiscretion. Would he tell his family? Make a joke of it? Or would he make something darker out of a simple mistake?
Only it hadn’t been a mistake. Not after his arms had closed around her, his lips making demanding love to her mouth.
Just thinking about it made her face go hot, and a gasp of shock, charged with wicked excitement, burst from her as he caught her hair with one hand, twisting the length of it round his wrist, forcing her to turn back, face him.
‘I can’t stop you being a menace to the male sex. But don’t mess with my family, Annie Kincaid.’ Another slight twist of his wrist and she was closer to that tough male body. The harsh, handsome face bent over hers, his breath sweet and clean. So close she could feel his body heat, his power, his contempt See that contempt in the dark grey eyes.
The contempt withered her; she fought against it, a battle twinned with the crazy desire to get closer still, to touch and be touched, to feel the long, hard length of him against her soft, receptive female curves.
She wanted to tell him he was mistaken, too. She was no man-eater. But that would be giving his jaundiced view of her a credibility it didn’t deserve. Desperately trying to clear her head of the accumulated muddle he had created, she narrowed her eyes at him.
‘You’re overreacting, Mr Faber. If what happened that night—and it was only a kiss, remember—affected you so strangely, then I’m sorry. But that’s your problem. There’s nothing I can do about it.’
The moment the words were past her lips she knew she’d said the wrong thing. The sudden hiss of his indrawn breath, the dark glitter of his eyes, told her that her piece of bravado had been taken as a challenge.
Too late to retract now, though. The damage was done. And more was to come as that sensual mouth came down on hers, his tongue diving deep between her parted lips with instinctive, bred-in-the-bone male possession.
And just as suddenly, just as she recovered from the stunned shock of engulfing excitement, her blood fizzing dizzily through her veins as she began a feverish response, he put her away, his hand sliding through her hair, right through the thick and crinkly golden length of it to where it tapered to a curling point in the small of her back.
‘Nothing you can do about it? How about carrying on where we left off? When I feel like it,’ he drawled. ‘For now, though, go on down to lunch. And remember, I’ll be watching you. There isn’t a corner you can hide in without my eyes finding you.’
Lunch? An impossibility. How could she swallow a thing? She pretended to, though, because to do otherwise would let him see he’d won, ruined her appetite, made her needle-sharp-aware of every inflection of his voice, every flicker of those enigmatically veiled eyes—those watching eyes.
The table in front of the birthday girl had been piled with gift-wrapped packages. Molly Redway indeed looked like an excited girl as she tore through paper and sent satin ribbon bows flying to cries of, ‘Just what I wanted! Oh, how lovely!’ and, ‘How did you know I yearned for new driving gloves?’ She laid the supple kid leather against her flushed cheek and Daniel said, affectionate amusement curling through his voice, ‘You hinted often enough, Ma! Glad you’re happy with them, though.’
And her husband reached across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘We made notes of all the hints, jotted them down, and then decided who should make you a gift of what!’
Annie slumped gratefully back in her seat, thankful for the distraction. At least Daniel Faber’s carefully guarded eyes had something else to focus on right now. And Enid Mayhew had been a revelation.
She was lovely. Slender, with cool, aristocratically beautiful features, her dark hair cut short, soft tendrils framing her face and curling against her long white neck.
Surely any man would be bowled over if such a gorgeous creature professed herself in love with him? So what was wrong with Mark?
Covering her untouched salmon mousse with her vast paper napkin, Annie thought she knew why Mark backed off and hid when most men would jump through hoops of fire to gain the interest of such a beauty. Enid made her adoration far too obvious—had been doing so, apparently, since she was at school.
Unlike his half-brother—who would greedily take whatever offer presented itself, as witness the way he had responded to her mistaken embrace on that dark December night, and then vilify the woman in question—Mark was a hunter. He would want to pursue, make the woman he wanted want him back, not hand him everything on a plate.
It was all there in her beautiful expressive eyes, in the way those same eyes had misted, the soft lips trembling, when they’d been first introduced, in the way the girl had avoided looking at her ever since.
Annie ached to tell her that she was going about everything in exactly the wrong way. That she, Annie, wasn’t what Mark wanted her to seem. But how? When? Since she’d joined the others for pre-lunch drinks on the terrace Mark hadn’t left her side, and Daniel had done what he’d said he would. Watched her. Watched her until her skin prickled and her nerve-ends screamed. There seemed little hope. of snatching a few private moments with the other girl.
‘You’ve done something to your hair,’ Mark commented, one brow quirked to where Enid sat at the far end of the table.
He was sitting far too close to her, and his voice made Annie jump. She’d be fainting at the sight of her shadow next, she thought weakly, wide eyes taking in the other girl’s pretty blush.
‘I—I had it cut.’ She flicked the end of her tongue over her lips. ‘I—it was too long and heavy. Hot.’
So she got practically speechless whenever the love of her life bothered to notice her, did she? Annie thought, then saw everyone—except Mark—looking at her own heavy, riotously curling mane and felt herself blush, too. Though not so prettily, she was sure.
‘Suits you.’ Mark sounded vaguely surprised, and Enid shot to her feet, her mouth quivering.
‘I’ll clear away.’
‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Molly Redway was adamant. ‘You spent all day yesterday and most of this morning in the kitchen. Father, why don’t you take everyone on a tour of the garden while I stack the dishwasher? Mrs Potts is due to arrive soon. She’s broken her rule of never working at weekends because of this evening’s party...’ Still chattering, she shooed everyone out of the cool, elegant dining room, through the French windows and into the late August heatwave.
The gardens drowsed in the sun, the trees, heavy and sleepy, casting islands of welcome dark green shade, the harsh light bleaching the rose blooms of colour. Conversation was desultory, movements slow in the summer heat.
A normal family taking mild exercise after lunch. Only this wasn’t normal. There were muddles and undercurrents swirling just beneath the surface—fore-runners of change. Annie had the feeling that she was some kind of catalyst, and hated it.
At her side, Mark took her hand and Annie, her miserable thoughts on another plane entirely, didn’t really notice until his fingers tightened, hurting her. Annoyed with him, she tugged away.
He’d promised there’d be no touching, no lying, that her presence alone would be enough to convince them all that there
