might as well get up. I know you’re faking it.’
The voice sounded bored. Mari felt her indignation stir lazily; she wasn’t faking anything.
‘What am I doing here?’
And where was here?
She slowly turned in the direction of the voice, realising her head was cushioned on a hard and dusty pillow thing. Teeth gritted, she prised her eyelids apart. They felt as though she had weights attached to her eyelashes. It took several blinks to bring the face of the man who spoke into focus. The only other person in the room, he was standing in front of a deep window, the sun shining through the stained glass behind him and surrounding his face with a halo of blue flickering light.
Even without the light show it was an incredible face. The combination of the starkly drawn lines of a broad, high forehead, aristocratic cheekbones and sensually sculpted mouth was arresting, but it was the hard, brooding quality in his stare that almost tipped her into panic.
‘You took the words right out of my mouth,’ he drawled.
Then the panic made sense. It came rushing back in full relentless detail without the protective cushion of adrenaline-heated anger.
She had done it. She really had! Oh, God!
Wasn’t she meant to be feeling great or at least vindicated? Seeing the villain on the receiving end of the tit-for-tat payback wasn’t as satisfying as she’d imagined.
Struggling to channel calm, she moistened her lips with her tongue and cleared her throat. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting married?’ The aura of masculinity he projected was even more pronounced in the enclosed space of this room. It had a skin-prickling quality that was very disturbing on more than one level.
‘I should be, yes.’
She dragged her eyes off the small V of brown skin where the top button of his shirt had come adrift along with his tie, feeling pretty disgusted with her indiscriminate hormones. ‘You mean you’re not...?’
‘It’s called off—wasn’t that the idea?’ He raised an eyebrow.
She brought her lashes down to shield herself from his hard interrogative stare. Was it? Beyond inflicting the humiliation he had not thought twice about subjecting her to, had she thought much at all...? She’d had a vague mental image of sweeping out, leaving him a crushed man...or at least one recognising that he had no right interfering in the lives of the Jones twins. Refusing to acknowledge the strong element of compulsion involved, she moved her resentful blue gaze up the long, lean, muscle-packed length of him.
Yeah, that really worked well!
It was hard to imagine anyone looking less crushed, and it wasn’t just his tungsten physique. The man was cold steel through and through. Aware her glance was becoming a full-on stare slash drool, she took a deep breath and pulled herself into a sitting position. Both hands on her hair, she brushed the flaming strands back from her face and swung her legs over the edge of the couch.
‘Not really.’
‘So what exactly did you expect to happen?’
She shrugged and dodged his stare, thinking, Good question, Mari.
A muscle clenched in his lean cheek as he fought to retain a grip on his temper. ‘So you hadn’t thought that far ahead?’
‘It never occurred to me that she’d let someone as rich as you get away.’ She heard his sharp intake of breath and looked up, projecting wary defiance. ‘I’m not sorry.’
‘So you said, but that could change.’ His conversational tone did not hide the warning. Mari hugged herself to ward off the sudden chill in the room.
He had not thought she could go any paler but she did. Her skin had a translucent quality that was fascinating...or was that just him? He pushed away the thought—admitting there were any chinks in his control would have been admitting a weakness. Even in his teens, while his contemporaries were making fools of themselves over girls, Seb had always prided himself on the fact women only pushed the buttons he wanted them to—he was no longer a teenager.
Her rounded chin with the suggestion of a cleft lifted another defiant notch as she met his stare head-on, her dramatic eyes glittering with defiance.
‘Is that a threat?’
Seb watched one feathery brow arch. All her features had a clear-cut delicate quality except for her mouth, and that was just plain tempting.
‘Oh, that was, by the way, a rhetorical question. I’m not stupid. If you’re going to have me arrested just get on with it.’
Seb looked at the hands she held out towards him crossed at the wrists. ‘Handcuffs aren’t really my style,’ he drawled. ‘But maybe yours?’
What was his style?
The question and the image that drifted into her head brought with them a rush of scorching heat.
Where had that come from?
Feeling the shamed warmth flame in her cheeks, she wrenched her stare clear of his hands and his long elegant fingers that continued to exert an unhealthy fascination for her. Her lashes provided a protective screen of sorts as she rubbed her wrists while the illicit images kept popping into her head—in none of them was she fighting against the imprisonment of those strong fingers.
‘You have a disgusting mind.’ It takes one, Mari, to know one. ‘I knew you’d be a bully!’
What hadn’t been so obvious until this moment was that she was capable of such carnal thoughts. If they’d involved any other man but him Mari would have been quite relieved—it would have knocked on the head her growing conviction that, if not frigid, she had asexual leanings. As it was, a life of celibacy was infinitely preferable to being attracted to men like him... Were there any men like him?
‘Being proved right seems to make you happy, though some might call it a lucky break. You might have pulled your little stunt and then discovered I was actually a kind and warm-hearted person. Actually I feel quite flattered that I made such an impression on you six years ago.’
She laughed, a hard, scornful sound, and put her bare feet on the floor. ‘I remember you the same way people remember a bad dose of food poisoning.’ Her hair fell forward in a rippling wave that caught and held his fascinated gaze as she checked out under the couch, adding accusingly, ‘Where are my shoes? I want to go home.’
‘And it’s that simple?’
Mari struggled to hide the flash of fear that sent a chill through her body. ‘You can’t stop me!’ She caught her full lower lip between her teeth and looked up at him through her lashes, hating the quiver of uncertainty in her voice.
‘I think you owe me some sort of explanation at least, don’t you?’
‘I owe you nothing!’ she flared back.
‘Do you seriously think you can pull a stunt like that and walk away? Think about it,’ he suggested, walking across to the window, where a butterfly was helplessly battering its fragile wings
